The soldier grabbed his AKM—
A loud, flat thump came from the undergrowth, and he fell, hit in the back by a bullet. He writhed in pain, trying to scream, but only managed a choked gurgle, blood from a shredded lung frothing in his throat and mouth.
The shooter stepped from the bushes. He was short, barrel-chested . . . and wearing a blood-red beret.
Arcani Pachac.
‘Any sign of the rest?’ the Maoist leader asked as his scout pulled the knife from the second soldier’s neck and let the twitching corpse drop to the ground.
‘No, Inkarrí,’ the camouflaged man replied. ‘Their tracks go to the waterfall, but there’s nobody there. They must be behind it.’
Pachac nodded, then almost as an afterthought raised his weapon again. The automatic had been modified with a makeshift silencer, a two-litre plastic soda bottle stuffed with shredded newspaper and polythene bags taped to his pistol’s barrel. Smoke coiled from the hole in the end of the bottle where the bullet had seared through; the torn-up scraps inside had caught fire. He pulled the trigger, a second round smashing into the back of the wounded soldier’s skull. The shot was still loud, the improvised suppressor too crude to do more than muffle it – but, crucially, it didn’t sound like the sharp crack of gunfire. To anyone outside the immediate vicinity, it could be mistaken for a falling branch or other similar natural event. And the waterfall’s thunder masked it still further.
He pulled the smouldering bottle from the gun, then unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt. ‘The way is clear. Move up.’
The luckless soldier had heard engines. Before long, three off-road vehicles came into sight, following the archaeological team’s path. Two were old, battered and unassuming 4×4s - a rusting Ford F-150 pickup with a cargo bed full of rebels, and a long-past-its-prime Toyota Land Cruiser with sagging suspension. Leading the parade, however, was something much newer and more expensive: a bright yellow Hummer H3. Pachac was perversely proud of the vehicle, which his group had obtained by the simple expedient of murdering its owner; the oversized, cartoonish 4×4 was a perfect symbol of the kind of capitalist excess he was aiming to destroy, and it gave him a certain satisfaction to use it against them.
He also got a kick out of driving the huge, opulent vehicle, but kept that to himself.
The crowded trucks stopped behind the expedition’s vehicles, and Pachac’s men emerged. Like him, all were dirty, their clothes grubby and crumpled from a life spent in the rough and on the run. And like him, all were killers. Though they called themselves revolutionaries, to the Peruvian government the True Red Way were terrorists, and hunted as such.
But this time they were not working alone. Pachac ordered his men to head for the falls, then went to the Hummer. Inside was a high-tech field radio. He took the handset and spoke into it. ‘This is Pachac. We’re at the waterfall.’ He wasn’t concerned about the Peruvian authorities overhearing; the radio’s messages were encrypted.
‘Have you seen Wilde and the others?’ the reply came. The voice was clipped. British.
‘No, but they are definitely here. My contact in the village described the woman he saw. Red hair, in a ponytail – it must be her. We think they have found a way behind the waterfall.’ Pachac looked up at the thrum of an approaching helicopter. ‘Is that you I can hear?’
‘Of course it is. How many of them are there?’
‘My contact counted fourteen people. Four of them were soldiers. We have executed two of them already.’
‘We’ll take care of the waterfall – then you take care of the rest of them. But I need Dr Wilde and the Interpol agent, Jindal, alive. You understand?’
‘I have told my men,’ said Pachac impatiently.
‘Good.’ A bleep told the Peruvian that the call was terminated. He followed his men through the trees as the helicopter moved away.
None of Nina’s prior knowledge of Inca civilisation had prepared her for – she realised with amusement that she had started using the name without irony – El Dorado. The other known sites were long-looted and derelict; here, relics of the city’s inhabitants still remained. The palace’s rooms contained belongings left by its occupants, and she had to force herself to walk on by as she followed the statues’ glowing light deeper into the building.
But she knew she could explore the rest of the palace later. For now, finding the final piece was her top priority.
‘It can’t be much further,’ said Kit as the group entered a large room. ‘We’re almost at the back of the palace.’ The hiss of the water jet echoed off the walls.
This deep in the cave, there was much less light than in the Temple of the Sun. Eddie switched on his Maglite. ‘Is that something there?’
The beam found an alcove set into the rear wall – familiar markings within. ‘I think it is,’ said Nina, her pace and heartbeat getting faster.
Osterhagen was right with her. ‘Just like the map from Paititi!’
‘Only part of it,’ said Macy as the others crowded round to look. More flashlights illuminated the painted walls.
Nina knelt to enter the alcove. ‘Yeah. The people who made this map, this is where their journey ended. They didn’t go on into the jungle.’ The golden city marked the end of the trek from Cuzco.
But she was more interested in the nook set into the wall. In it stood a small figure, carved from an unusual purple stone.
Half a figure. The other piece of the last statuette. It had patiently stood here for centuries, waiting to be reunited with its mirror image – and its near-twins. The set was about to be completed.
She put down the other figures, their light vanishing, and cautiously touched the statuette in the niche. It lit up with a rippling glow – strongest in one direction. Towards the sculptures at her feet. ‘This is it!’ Nina said. ‘The last piece.’
‘Maybe now we’ll find out what all the bloody fuss is about,’ said Eddie.
‘Let’s hope.’ She reached for it—
A distant boom, a drawn-out rumble of something enormous tearing apart . . .
The floor shook, little cascades of dust and grit dropping from the walls. The statuettes on the floor clinked against each other. ‘Terremoto!’ cried Zender, frantically looking round for shelter.
‘It’s not an earthquake,’ said Eddie, straining to listen over the sound of water. ‘More like . . .’
‘Artillery,’ Mac finished for him.
Another tremor rolled through the ground. A new sound, closer, more frightening. Overhead. Rock straining against rock. ‘Shit!’ said Eddie. ‘The whole fucking place is going to come down! We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘The statues!’ Kit almost shouted.
‘I’ve got them,’ said Nina. No time to see what happened when they were brought together; she jammed them all into the foam-lined case and closed it. ‘Okay, let’s go!’
Everyone ran for the exit, Mac and Eddie side by side at the rear. Over the thumps and rumbles of rock, Nina realised that another sound was changing. ‘The waterfall – listen!’ The thunder of the falls was dying down. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get outside!’
They rushed on to the terrace overlooking the square behind the Temple of the Sun. The fountains were still gushing, fed by the subterranean reserve backed up behind the dam at the cave’s rear.
But ahead, the flow concealing the cavern’s mouth was weakening, glimpses of the valley’s far side visible through the thinning curtain.
The river had been blocked.
Alexander Stikes looked out of the hovering Hind’s cabin with a smile. Krikorian had just unleashed a barrage of S-8 rockets into the steep cliffs channelling the river – which had collapsed in a most satisfying manner, thousands of tons of rubble dropping into the narrow waterway. The waters behind the makeshift dam were already rising even as those ahead of it drained away, but the flood would find an alternative route down into the valley long before it could overflow the new obstacle. ‘Nicely done, Krikorian,’ he said into his
headset. ‘Gurov, take us back to the falls. Let’s see what’s behind them.’
The Russian pilot complied, the Hind swinging about and flying along the dwindling river before crossing the falls and hovering over the pocket jungle. Stikes’s smile widened as he saw the result of his attack. The strength of the cataract had already diminished enormously, exposing a broad cave mouth behind it – was that a wall blocking the lower half? If so, it was an impressive piece of ancient construction work – and the pool at its base was rapidly draining. It would soon be possible to reach the cave without even getting one’s feet wet.
Pachac, he saw, wasn’t going to wait that long. The terrorist leader, easy to spot in his red beret, was pointing at the wall, directing men bearing assault rifles and rocket launchers across the pool.
Ready to take the cavern and its contents by force.
33
Eddie saw the Hind through the cave mouth. Even with the water still partially obscuring it, he picked out the colours of the Venezuelan flag. ‘It’s Stikes!’
‘What?’ said Nina in utter disbelief. ‘How the hell could he know we’re here?’
The aircraft moved out of sight. ‘What is going on?’ Zender demanded, caught between confusion and fear. ‘That helicopter - it was Venezuelan!’
‘It used to be one of yours, but it’s gone into the private sector,’ Eddie said grimly. He turned to the two soldiers. ‘You and you – with me, quick!’ The three men hurried away down the steps.
Zender still wanted answers. ‘Tell me what is happening!’
‘Stikes used the helicopter’s weapons to block the river and cut off the waterfall,’ Mac told him. ‘It’ll make it easier for his people to get into the cave.’
‘Who is Stikes?’
‘A mercenary,’ said Nina. ‘He was part of the attempted coup in Venezuela – and it looks like he’s trying to make up for not getting paid by raiding this place.’
Juanita was scared. ‘What – what about the soldiers we left outside?’
‘They’re dead,’ Mac replied bluntly. ‘And we will be too unless Eddie and your other men can hold them off.’
‘You don’t sound confident,’ said Kit.
The Hind came back into view outside. ‘We are slightly outgunned,’ said Mac. He looked towards the plaza. ‘We need to see what’s going on.’ He started down the steps, the others going with him. Nina left the case amongst the team’s gear before following.
Eddie and the two soldiers raced downhill through the narrow streets. They passed the tombs, seeing the reservoir ahead. ‘Where are we going?’ asked Lieutenant Echazu.
‘There’s only one way into this cave,’ Eddie answered. ‘We need to make sure nobody comes up that tunnel.’
‘We? But you do not have a gun!’
‘I’ve got a water pistol, sort of.’ They reached the edge of the hidden city, the ground sloping more steeply down to the shaft. ‘Okay, cover that hole.’
The soldiers split up to take positions overlooking the entrance. ‘What are you doing?’ shouted the corporal, Chambi, seeing Eddie running to the shaft itself.
‘Making sure they get the point!’ he said as he jumped down to the booby trap’s trigger slab. There was a rasp of stone, but it stayed in place.
More sounds echoed up the passage. He looked down, seeing torchlight glinting off the silver spikes. The intruders were already at the bottom of the shaft – and he had left them an easy way up. The hanging rope suddenly pulled tight as someone started to climb it.
He jumped down to the next step. Below was the ledge with the three jaguar heads. Another look over the edge – and he saw a man on the first ledge.
Eddie dropped flat on the cramped step, reaching down with one hand. The two jaguar heads that he had left untouched were just within his grasp, but the third, lowered to deactivate the trap, was a couple of inches beyond his fingertips. Swearing under his breath, he leaned further out. The man on the rope was already climbing to the second step—
A torch beam flashed across his face. Someone shouted in Spanish. The climber looked up, saw him – and dropped back down to the first step, reaching for the AK-47 across his back.
Eddie lunged, grabbing the stone jaguar and yanking it upwards – then rolled back as the Kalashnikov roared. Bullets smacked against the wall, sending ricochets screaming up the shaft. The noise was horrific in the confined space.
The thunder faded to echoes, then to nothing. The AK’s magazine was empty. He heard metallic clicks from below as the gunman kept pulling the trigger.
Not one of Stikes’s men, then – a professional would already be changing the mag. No time to wonder who he might be, though. Instead Eddie leapt and grabbed the rope, swinging round to plant his soles against the shaft’s side as he scrambled up. He couldn’t touch the trigger slab on the step above.
Kla-chack! The gunman had finally reloaded and pulled the AK’s charging handle, chambering the first round—
Eddie heaved himself over the ledge and swung sideways on the rope, thumping against the back wall as another burst of gunfire hammered up the shaft. He was barely an inch above the slab, his leather jacket brushing the stone. A sharp chunk of metal hit his cheek – a bullet had blown the tip off a spike. He flinched, almost falling, straining to hold on . . .
The firing stopped. The rope juddered in his hands as the man below grabbed it and started to climb after him.
Eddie jerked back into motion, pulling himself rapidly up the shaft. He clambered out and drew his knife. The rope was still bar-taut with the gunman’s weight; he sawed at it, threads fraying—
It snapped. A yell of fright came from below as the climber fell – followed by a terrible scream as he hit the spikes. The agonised shrieks continued as the man flailed, trying to drag himself off the spears tearing into his flesh. He succeeded – only to plummet down the shaft. The crack of shattering bone as his jaw caught the edge of a step was almost as sharp as the Kalashnikov’s shots.
The sound was followed by the real thing as the dead man’s companions fired up the shaft. Eddie ran – not because he feared being hit, but because he was only feet from the silver door at the bottom of the reservoir.
If the trap still worked, it would soon open.
The gunshots stopped, replaced by grunts of exertion. Another man was ascending, pulling himself up each step in turn. Shouts followed him as other men crowded into the tunnel to join the pursuit.
He reached the fourth ledge—
The slab tilted under his weight. Only by an inch . . .
But that was all that was needed to release the flap.
The heavy metal door, hinged at its top, flew open under the pressure of thousands of gallons of water. The escaping flood smashed against the great wall before finding an escape route – straight down the shaft.
The deluge swept away the men climbing the steps, dashing them against the spikes and driving the silver points through skulls and torsos. Those at the bottom fared no better, the surge of water pounding along the passage like a piston and flinging them to their deaths on the jagged rocks below.
Outside, Pachac stared at the plume of water gushing from the tunnel in horrified disbelief. He had been about to enter the passage himself – and now all the men who had gone before him were dead! Bodies surfaced and bobbed in the frothing pool, limbs snapped like broken dolls. The rest of his men were equally shocked. ‘Inkarrí!’ shouted one. ‘What – what do we do now?’
The force of the water was already falling. Pachac’s face set into an angry snarl. ‘As soon as the tunnel is clear, we go in – and make the bastards who killed our brothers pay!’
Eddie reached Echazu, the young officer having found a position in a small house overlooking the shaft. Chambi was not far away, crouched behind the wall of a terrace near their route into the city. ‘You got them!’ said the Peruvian.
‘Dunno if I got all of ’em, though,’ Eddie replied. The reservoir was now empty, the silver flap’s weight swingin
g it shut to reset the trap – but it would take hours, even days, for the streams running through the cavern to refill it. ‘If I didn’t, it won’t take long before they come through that hole. If you see anyone, shoot ’em!’ He ran along the terrace to give the corporal the same instructions.
From the circling Hind, Stikes watched Pachac and his remaining men climb to the entrance set into the towering wall. The gush of water from it had reduced to a modest stream. ‘The Incas didn’t leave their city totally undefended, I see.’
Baine, sitting beside him, looked down at the corpses in the pool without sympathy. ‘Stupid bastards. Must have run right in without checking.’
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