Smith stared at him. ‘So what in God’s name are they doing here?’
‘Nobody knows. Huston thinks they left their homeland all those hundreds of years ago. He thinks they may have fled to the east, found the headwaters of the Amazon, come all the way down until they reached the Rio Tocantis, turned up that until they came to the Araguaia, then up the Rio da Morte. Again, who knows? Stranger migrations have happened. It could have taken them generations: they were weighed down with many possessions. I believe it. Wait till you see the Lost City and you’ll understand why I do believe it.’
Smith said: ‘How far away is this damned city?’
‘Five hours. Six.’
‘Five hours!’
‘And easy going. Uphill, but no swamps, no quicksands.’ He turned to Chief Corumba, who smiled and again warmly embraced Hamilton.
‘Wishing us good luck?’ Smith said.
‘Among quite a few other things. I’ll have a longer chat with him tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow!’
‘Why ever not?’
Smith, Tracy and Hiller exchanged flickering glances. None of the three said anything.
Just before they walked away Hamilton spoke quietly to Maria. ‘Stay behind with these people. They will look after you, I promise. Where we’re going is no place for a lady.’
‘I’m coming.’
‘Suit yourself. There’s an excellent chance you’ll be dead by nightfall.’
‘You don’t much care for me, do you?’
‘Enough to ask you to stay behind.’
In the late afternoon Hamilton and his party were still making their way towards the Lost City. The going underfoot was excellent, dry, leafy and springy.
Unfortunately for people like Smith, the incline was fairly severe and the heat was, of course, as always oppressive.
Hamilton said: ‘I think we’ll have a half-hour break here. We’re ahead of time—we can’t move in until it’s dark. Besides, some of you may think you’ve earned a rest.’
‘Too bloody right, we have,’ Smith said. ‘How much longer do you intend to crucify us?’
He sank wearily to the ground and mopped his streaming face with a bandana. He was not the only one to do so. With the exception of Hamilton and the twins, everyone seemed to be suffering from a shortage of breath and leaden, aching legs. Hamilton had, indeed, been setting a brisk pace.
‘You’ve done very well, all of you,’ Hamilton said. ‘Mind you, you might have done even better if you hadn’t guzzled and drunk like pigs down in the village. We’ve climbed almost two thousand feet since leaving there.’
Smith said: ‘How—much—longer?’
‘From here to the top? Another half hour. No more. I’m afraid we’ll have to do a bit more climbing after that—downhill, mind you, but a pretty steep downhill.’
‘Half an hour,’ Smith said. ‘Nothing.’
‘Wait until you start going down.’
‘The last lap,’ Hamilton said. ‘We are ten yards from the brink of a ravine. Anyone who hasn’t a head for heights had better say so now.’
If anyone didn’t have a head for heights he or she wasn’t saying so. Hamilton began to crawl forward. The rest followed. Hamilton stopped and motioned to the others to join him.
Hamilton said: ‘You see what I see?’
Smith said: ‘Jesus!’
Maria said: ‘The Lost City!’
Tracy said: ‘Shangri-la!’
‘El Dorado,’ Hamilton said.
‘What?’ Smith said. ‘What was that?’
‘Nothing, really. There never was an El Dorado. It means the golden man. New Inca rulers were covered in gold dust and dipped—only temporarily, of course—in a lake. You see that peculiar stepped pyramid with the flat top at the far end?’
The question was really unnecessary. It was the dominant feature of the Lost City.
‘That’s one of the reasons—there are two others—why Huston thought that the Children of the Sun came from Colombia. It’s what you call a ziggurat. Originally it was a temple tower in Babylonia or Assyria. No traces of those remain in the Old World—the Egyptians built a quite different form of pyramid.’
Tracy said, as if not knowing: ‘This is the only one?’
‘By no means. You’ll find well-preserved examples in Mexico, Guatemala, Bolivia and Peru. But only in Central America and the north-west of South America. But nowhere else in the world-except here.’
Serrano said: ‘So they’re Andean. You couldn’t ask for better proof.’
‘You couldn’t. But I have it.’
‘Complete proof? Total?’
I’ll show you later.’ He pointed with outstretched arm. ‘You see those steps?’
Stretching from the river to the top of the plateau and hewn from the vertical rock-face, the stone stairway, terrifying to look at even from a distance, angled upwards at 45°.
‘Two hundred and forty-eight steps,’ Hamilton said, ‘each thirty inches wide. Worn, smooth and slippery—and no hand rail.’
Tracy said: ‘Who counted them?’
‘I did.’
‘You mean—’
‘Yes. Wouldn’t do it again, though. There had been a hand rail once and I’d brought along equipment to rig a rope rail. It’s still on the hovercraft—for obvious reasons.’
‘Mr Hamilton!’ Silver spoke in an urgent whisper. ‘Mr Hamilton!’
‘What’s the excitement about?’
‘I saw someone moving in the ruins down there. I swear to it.’
‘The pilot’s eagle-eye, eh? No need to swear to anything. There are quite a number of people down there. Why do you think I didn’t fly in by helicopter?’
Serrano said: ‘They are not friends, no?’
‘No.’ He turned to Smith. ‘Speaking of helicopters, I don’t have to explain the layout of this place to you. You know it already.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘That film cassette you had Hiller steal for you.’
‘I don’t know what—’
‘I took them a year ago. I left Hiller no option but to steal them. Taken from a helicopter. Not bad for an amateur, were they?’
Smith didn’t say whether they were or not. He, Hiller and Tracy had again, momentarily, assumed very odd expressions, mainly of deep unease.
Hamilton said: ‘Look to your left there. Just where the river forks to go round the island.’
At a distance of about half a mile and about three hundred feet below their present elevation a spidery, sagging, and apparently twisted series of ropes spanned the gorge between the top of the plateau and a point about half-way up the top of the cliff on which they were lying. Immediately below the cliff anchorage a small waterfall arced out into the river.
‘A rope bridge,’ Hamilton said. ‘Well, a liana bridge. Or a straw bridge. Those are normally renewed once a year. This one can’t have been renewed for at least five years. Must be in a pretty rotten state by this time.’
‘So?’ Smith said. The apprehension in his voice was unmistakable.
‘So that’s the way we go in.’
The silence that followed was long and profound.
At last Serrano said ‘Another proof of Andean ancestry, no? I mean, there are no rope bridges in the Mato Grosso—well, there’s not one now—nor, as far as I know, anywhere in Brazil. The Indians never learnt how to make them. Why should they have done—they never needed them. But the Incas and their descendants knew how to make them—living in the Andes, they had to know.’
‘I’ve seen one,’ Hamilton said. ‘On the Apurimac river, high up in Peru—about twelve thousand feet. They use six heavy braided straw cables for the main supports—four for the footpaths, two for the hand rails. Smaller ropes for closing in the sides and a bed of twigs spread over the footpath so that only a three-year-old could possibly fall through. Can support scores of people when new. I’m afraid this one is not new.’
A narrow cleft ran down the cliff at an angle of close
on 60°. A small stream, probably fed from some spring above, fell, rather than flowed down this cleft, leaping whitely from spur to spur. On one side of this cleft a series of rough steps had been cut, obviously a very long time ago.
Hamilton and the others started to descend. It was a fairly arduous descent but not really either difficult or dangerous as Hamilton had taken the precaution of binding together a series of tough lianas, anchoring one end to a tree and letting the rest fall down the cleft.
At the foot of the cleft, just above where the waterfall arced out above the river, a platform, about eight feet by eight, had been quarried out of the cliff-face. Hamilton was already standing there. One by one he was joined by the others.
Hamilton moved to examine a stone bollard and an iron post that had been hammered into the platform. Three now threadbare lianas were attached to both. Hamilton produced his sheath knife and scraped at the iron post. Thick brown flakes were shaved away.
‘Keep your voices down,’ Hamilton said. ‘Rusty, isn’t it?’ He turned away to look over the gorge. The others did the same. The straw bridge was very flimsy and clearly venerable. Both the hand supports and the footpath were severely frayed. Several of the straw ropes appeared to have rotted and fallen away.
Hamilton said: ‘Not in the best condition, wouldn’t you say?’
Smith, his eyes wide, was obviously appalled. ‘Good God in heaven. That’s suicide. Only a madman would go on it. Do you expect me to risk my life on that?’
‘Of course not. Why on earth should you? You’re only here for the story, for the pictures. You’d be crazy to risk your life just for that. Tell you what. Give me your camera and I’ll take the pictures for you. And don’t forget—the people over there may not be welcoming to trespassers.’
Smith was silent for some time, then said: ‘I’m a man who sees things through to the end.’
‘Maybe the end is closer than you think. It’s dark enough now. I’m going first.’
Navarro said: ‘Senor Hamilton. I am much lighter—’
‘Thank you. But that’s just the point. I’m a heavy man and I’m carrying a heavy pack. If it takes my weight—well, you should all be okay.’
Ramon said: ‘A thought occurs to me.’
‘And to me.’ He moved towards the straw bridge.
‘What was that meant to mean?’ Maria said.
‘He thinks, perhaps, that they will have a welcome mat out over there.’
‘Oh. A guard.’
Hamilton moved steadily across the straw bridge. That is, he made steady progress. The bridge itself was shockingly unsteady, swaying from side to side. Hamilton was now more than half-way across. The bridge sagged so badly in the middle that he had to haul himself up a fairly steep incline. But he was experiencing no great difficulty. He arrived safely on a platform similar to the one he had left on the other side of the gorge. He crouched low, for the platform was only a few feet lower than the plateau. Cautiously, he lifted his head.
There was, indeed, a guard, but he was not taking his duties too seriously. He was smoking a cigarette and, of all things, relaxing in a deck chair. Hamilton’s bent arm was raised to shoulder level. His handkerchief-wrapped hand held the blade of his heavy sheath knife. The guard drew deeply on his cigarette, clearly illuminating his face. He made no sound as the haft of the knife struck him between the eyes, just tipped to one side and fell out of his chair.
Hamilton turned and flashed his torch three times. Within minutes he was joined one by one by eight people who had not enjoyed their passage across the rope bridge.
Hamilton said: ‘Let’s go and see the boss man.’ He could find his way blindfolded and led them silently through the ancient ruins. Shortly he stopped and pointed.
There was a large and fairly new wooden hall with lights showing. The sound of voices carried.
‘Barracks,’ Hamilton said. ‘Mess hall and sleeping accommodation. Guards.’
Tracy said: ‘Guards? Why?’
‘Guilty conscience somewhere.’
‘What’s that noise?’ Smith said.
‘Generator.’
‘Where do we go from here?’
‘There.’ Hamilton pointed again. At the foot of the giant ziggurat was another but much smaller wooden building. Lights also shone from that building.
‘That’s where the guilty conscience lives.’ Hamilton was silent for a few moments. ‘The man who every night feels dead feet trampling over his grave.’
Silver said: ‘Mr Hamilton—’
‘Nothing, nothing. Ramon, Navarro. I wonder if you see what I see?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Ramon said. ‘There are two men standing in the shadow of that porch.’
Hamilton seemed to ponder for a few moments. ‘I wonder what they could be doing there?’
‘We’ll go and ask them.’
Ramon and Navarro melted into the shadows.
Smith said: ‘Who are these two? Your assistants, I mean. They are not Brazilian.’
‘No.’
‘European?’
‘Yes.’
Ramon and Navarro returned as silently and unobtrusively as they had left.
‘Well,’ Hamilton said. ‘What did they say?’
‘Not a great deal,’ Navarro said. ‘I think they may tell us when they wake up.’
CHAPTER NINE
Inside the smaller wooden house was a large dining-cum-living-room. The walls were much behung with flags, banners, portraits, swords, rapiers, guns and pictures, all German. Behind a table a large, rather red-faced, heavily jowled man was eating a solitary meal to be washed down by beer from a pewter litre mug beside him. He looked up in amazement as the door crashed open.
Hamilton, pistol in hand, entered. He was followed by Smith, then the others.
‘Guten abend,’ Hamilton said. ‘I’ve brought an old friend along to see you.’ He nodded towards Smith. ‘I think old friends should smile and shake hands and say “hallo”, don’t you? You don’t?’
Hamilton’s pistol fired, gouging a hole in the seated man’s desk.
‘Nervous hands,’ Hamilton said. ‘Ramon?’
Ramon went behind the desk and removed a gun from an already half-opened drawer.
‘Try the other drawer,’ Hamilton said. Ramon did so and came up with a second gun.
‘Can’t really blame you,’ Hamilton said. ‘There are thieves and robbers everywhere these days. Well. Embarrassing silences bother me. Let me introduce you to each other. Behind the desk, Major-General Wolfgang Von Manteuffel of the S.S., variously known as Brown or Jones. Beside me, Colonel Heinrich Spaatz, also known as Smith, also of the S.S., Inspector General and Assistant Inspector General of the north and central Polish concentration and extermination camps, thieves on a colossal scale, murderers of old men in holy orders and despoilers of monasteries. Remember, that’s where you last met—in that Grecian monastery where you cremated the monks. But, then, you were specialists in cremation, weren’t you?’
They weren’t saying whether they were or not. The stillness in the room was total. All eyes were on Hamilton with the exception of those of Von Manteuffel and Spaatz: they had eyes only for each other.
‘Sad,’ Hamilton said. ‘Very sad. Spaatz came all this long way to see you, Von Manteuffel. Admittedly, he came to kill you, but he did come. Something, I believe, to do with a rainy night in the Wilhelmshaven docks.’
There came the sharp crack of a small-bore automatic. Hamilton looked at Tracy who, gun loose in an already nerveless hand, was sinking to the floor and from the state of his head it was clear he would never rise again. Maria had a gun in her hand and was very pale.
Hamilton said: ‘My gun is on you.’
She put her automatic back in her bush jacket pocket. ‘He was going to kill you.’
‘He was,’ Ramon said.
Hamilton looked at her in bafflement. ‘He was going to kill me, so you killed him?’
‘I was waiting for it.’
Navarro said tho
ughtfully, ‘I do believe the young lady is not all that we thought she was.’
‘So it would seem.’ Hamilton was equally thoughtful. He said to her: ‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Yours.’
Spaatz at last looked away from Von Manteuffel and stared at her in total incredulity. She went on quietly: ‘It is sometimes quite difficult to tell a Jewish girl from other girls.’
Hamilton said: ‘Israeli?’
‘Yes.’
‘Intelligence?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah! Would you like to shoot Spaatz too?’
‘They want him back in Tel Aviv.’
‘Failing that?’
‘Yes.’
‘My apologies, and without any reservations. You’re becoming quite unpopular, Spaatz. But not yet in Von Manteuffel’s class. The Israelis want him for obvious reasons. The Greeks’—he nodded to Ramon and Navarro in turn—’those two gentlemen are Greek army intelligence officers—want you for equally obvious reasons.’ He looked at Hiller. ‘They supplied me with those gold coins, by the way.’ He turned back to Von Manteuffel. ‘The Brazilian government want you for dispossessing the Muscia tribe and for the killing of many of them and I want you for the murder of Dr Hannibal Huston and his daughter, Lucy.’
Von Manteuffel smiled and spoke for the first time. ‘I’m afraid you all want a great deal. And I’m afraid you’re not going to get it.’
There came a loud crashing of glass and simultaneously the barrels of three sub-machine-guns protruded through three smashed windows.
Von Manteuffel smiled contentedly. ‘Any person found with a gun on him will be shot out of hand. Do I have to tell you what to do next?’
He didn’t. All guns were dropped on the floor, including two that Hamilton had not known that Spaatz and Hiller were carrying.
‘So.’ Von Manteuffel nodded in satisfaction. ‘So much better than a blood bath, don’t you think? Simpletons! How do you think I have survived for so long? By taking endless precautions. Such as this little press button my right foot rests on.’
He broke off as four armed men entered and watched them in silence as they searched the captives for further weapons. Predictably, they found none.
River of Death Page 13
