Gold of the Gods

by Bear Grylls

  Mayor Rafael frowned slightly, as if the policeman's words had annoyed him, before breaking into a forced smile and speaking to Beck.

  'It appears we must be moving on,' he said. 'Ramirez here says I must be ready to start the fireworks promptly at seven p.m. and we're already a little late. Your uncle and I need to . . . er . . . press the flesh, I think you English say. Beck, why don't you enjoy the carnival with the twins for a while and join us for the fireworks later?'

  Leaving the mayor and Professor Granger with the sinister-looking Ramirez, Beck and the twins made their way out of the hotel into the scrum of carnival-goers. 'Follow us if you can,' bellowed Marco above the din. 'We're making for the church on the other side of the square. There's something you must look at. It will explain a lot about the Lost City – you'll see!'

  The carnival was now in full swing and Beck abandoned himself to the ebb and flow of the huge crowd. At times he felt as if he had been tossed into the sea and was bobbing along like a cork on the waves. Everywhere he looked, magical sights caught his eye and his brain clicked and whirred like a camera on motordrive.

  On stalls all around the square, street vendors were selling slices of sizzling meat cooked on hot bricks and wrapped in palm leaves. Piles of fruit lined the walkways and immaculately groomed white horses high-stepped elegantly past.

  In the centre of the square a street performer, his face masked in white chalk and his lips the colour of cherries, was mingling with the crowd. He was a mime artist, silently copying the movements of unsuspecting passers-by. Beck laughed out loud as the man swayed his hips in time to an unsuspecting young señora in a polkadot dress.

  When the three teenagers finally reached the far side of the square, Beck looked up at the ornate façade of the Church of the Blessed Virgin. Its gold-painted spires glinted in the evening sunshine and a finely carved statue of the Madonna and Child gazed serenely down at them from an alcove above the giant wooden doors.

  At the top of a sweeping stone staircase, Beck recognized the distinctive features of the conquistador, Don Gonzalo. The statue had clearly been copied from the oil painting hanging in the ballroom of the Hotel Casa Blanca.

  'Don Gonzalo has the best view in the square,' laughed Christina. 'Dad once took a picture of me as a baby, sitting on his shoulders during the carnival. I'm not sure the old boy could manage my weight these days. His head would probably break off.'

  'There are many legends about our ancestor,' said Marco. 'No one knows for sure what's true and what isn't. But we do know that in 1512 Gonzalo was the captain of the first ship to land in South America. Not far along the coast from here. The descriptions in the old books make it sound like paradise. Coconut palms and white sand stretching as far as the eye could see. The conquistadors probably wished they'd packed their surfboards. But somehow I don't think Don Gonzalo would have had much time for beach bums.'

  'At first they thought the whole coast was uninhabited,' continued Christina, 'but then they found tracks in the forest and realized that there were people living here after all. The people we know today as the Kogi.'

  'The who?' asked Beck.

  'The Kogi,' Christina explained. 'They're an Indian tribe who live down the coast in the forests of the Sierra Nevada. A bit like the Maya and the Aztecs who Cortés discovered in Mexico. But the Kogi were never defeated by the conquistadors and they still live in the mountains, just like they did in the old days. We're taught about them in school, but we rarely see them. They're very shy and don't like to mix with the people in the towns.

  'They knew how to make gold jewellery like the Aztecs,' Christina went on. 'But to them gold wasn't like money is for us. It was offered in sacrifice to their gods. They buried gold objects in the ground at their holy sites or threw them into holy lakes. That's where the conquistadors got the idea of "El Dorado", the City of Gold.'

  'So let's get this right,' said Beck, looking quizzically at the twins. 'Your great-great-great- great-great-grandfather, or thereabouts, arrived on the coast and went searching for El Dorado in the mountains where the Kogi Indians were living.'

  Marco nodded and looked Beck straight in the eye. 'When Gonzalo found the city, he only had a few men with him, so he returned to Cartagena to mount another expedition. But before he could return, the Indians abandoned the city and changed the pathways through the jungle so Gonzalo was never able to find it again. He took his revenge by burning down one of the Kogi villages. He died soon after. Some say he was poisoned. But the only thing we know for sure is his last words.'

  The twins pointed to a coat of arms carved into the plinth at the base of the statue of Don Gonzalo. Beck read out loud three words carved into the stone in an elaborate gothic script.

  'Perdido. No. Más. What does that mean?'

  'Perdido no más,' echoed Marco. 'The family motto. It means "Lost No More", but why Gonzalo said it when he couldn't find the Lost City again, nobody knows.'

  'You say he was poisoned,' said Beck. 'Who by?'

  'Maybe other conquistadors who wanted to find the gold from the Lost City. Perhaps even the Kogis. Some say he may have been under a Kogi curse. No one knows for sure,' replied Marco.

  Beck's head was spinning as he tried to take in the twins' incredible story. Meanwhile more carnival floats were still arriving in the square. A giant effigy of Don Gonzalo was followed by a Spanish galleon under full sail. It was crewed by raven-haired beauty queens in sparkling bikinis hanging precariously from the masts, smiling and waving to the crowd.

  Then a tidal wave of applause broke over the square. By far the biggest effigy Beck had seen so far was making its grand entrance. A giant papier-mâché toad painted a livid emerald green was being squeezed through a ceremonial arch into the square. But its bulbous mass was so huge, it quickly became wedged and could not be moved.

  Volunteers standing nearby joined in an ungainly bout of pushing and shoving but were unable to shift it. Then, much to the crowd's amusement, a gang of Elvis look-alikes hurriedly dismounted from the float behind and started to manoeuvre it through sideways.

  The toad finally burst into the square, its vast stomach sagging over the front of the float like a sumo wrestler's and its two huge legs straining under its bulk like immense balloons. The eyeballs bulging from the top of its head reminded Beck of the headlamps of an articulated lorry. 'Kermit, eat your heart out,' he muttered under his breath to no one in particular.

  'There's also something else you should know,' Christina was saying, smiling broadly. Pointing down to where the toad was at last being pushed into pride of place in the centre of the square, she paused for effect. 'He's also on our coat of arms.'

  'A giant toad?' said Beck. 'You'll be telling me Mickey Mouse had something to do with all this in a minute.'

  'La rana, the toad, is an important part of the legend,' Christina explained. 'She's the fertility goddess of the Kogi Indians. The Kogis believe that if it weren't for her protection, all the gold from the Lost City would have been stolen. And then the jungle and the Kogis – in fact the whole world – would have come to an end. That's why both Gonzalo's effigy and the toad goddess form a central part of the carnival.'

  'So the Lost City is more than just a Lost City for us,' added Marco. 'It's part of our family history too. That's why Dad wants to find it so much. And to do that he needs your uncle. Someone who understands the Indians and their culture. Otherwise he thinks he may suffer the same fate as Gonzalo.'

  Beck's head was reeling. The closing fireworks display was due to begin in half an hour and there was no time for any more questions. Marco was already leading the way down into the crowd again so that they could take up their positions with the VIPs on the platform on the other side of the square.

  'Stick close,' he shouted over his shoulder. 'We should just make it in time.'

  Darkness was already falling and paraffin torches were being lit in preparation for the evening's entertainment. The crowd had become more raucous and Beck could smell aguardiente, the
fiery local spirit, on the breaths of the more rowdy members. Shadows quivered and danced along the walls around the outside of the square.

  And then Beck saw him. Or, to be more exact, he felt the man's eyes boring into him. It was as if a laser beam were being shone straight into his heart. The Indian was wearing a white woollen tunic and on his head was a pointed cap. Thick dark hair hung down to his shoulders in braids and his eyes were so bright that a light seemed to be shining behind them.

  At first Beck thought that the man might be begging, but there was something in his bearing and the expression on his face, neither smiling or frowning, that was too dignified for that. And his eyes were so mesmerizing that for a moment Beck felt as if he were walking around inside his head and could read his thoughts. Beck was conscious now only of the rhythmic beating of the drums and the flickering shadows in the square. Suddenly, without ever once shifting his gaze, the Indian walked right up to him and whispered the words in his ear three times:

  'Perdido no más.'

  Then Beck passed out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Back on the balcony of the Hotel Casa Blanca, Chief of Police Pedro Ramirez was scanning the crowd in the square below. Behind a pair of aviator-style dark glasses favoured by security men and dictators the world over, his eyes darted restlessly back and forth.

  Not for nothing did his men know him as El Reptil, the Reptile. They said that his cold eyes never missed a trick. Some even joked that he had never been known to blink. But for the head of security for Cartagena, the day of the annual carnival was no different from any other. This was a day of work, not play.

  Scanning the rooftops with an expert eye, he carefully noted the positions of his men as, every few seconds, the micro-receiver in his left ear crackled into life. So far, the day was going well. The mayor had delivered his speech to the VIPs and the crowd seemed good-natured enough, despite a few rowdy local ruffians looking a little the worse for wear.

  Ramirez's reputation for ruthless efficiency and iron discipline had been earned the hard way, and he was not about to throw it away now. On his watch, all would go according to plan. And with news of the expedition to the Lost City spreading through the crowd like wildfire, he was taking no chances.

  Everything had proceeded like clockwork. Mayor Rafael had kept his speech short, as requested. And if he had not, one of Ramirez's men had been positioned next to the sound engineer to cut the microphone feed on a prearranged signal. The VIPs had moved from the ballroom onto the platform outside with the minimum of fuss. When it came to the smooth running of public events, no one was in any doubt who ran the show. And it wasn't Mayor Rafael.

  But all this was the easy bit. Now that the light was beginning to fade and the crowd was growing more animated, keeping control of any disturbance would be more of a problem. And this year, of all years, Ramirez had reason to be nervous.

  As he was turning to leave the balcony and join the VIPs on the stage below, a commotion in the crowd made him stop. To his annoyance his view was blocked by the bloated figure of the toad, whose bulbous eyes and grinning mouth seemed to leer mockingly back at him.

  Ramirez cursed and reached for his radio. 'Qué pasa? ' he barked.

  A storm of white noise exploded in his ear. Ramirez listened intently. He could see two of his men peering into the crowd through high-powered binoculars from the roof of the church opposite. In the shadows of the bell tower, a high-velocity rifle with telescopic sights was brought into the firing position.

  Ramirez smiled. His men had been well trained. But then, of course, he knew that already. Chief of Police Pedro Ramirez had not been the commandant of the National Police Training Centre in Bogotá for five years for nothing. The men under his command were not only hand-picked. They were also hand-trained.

  As the gabble in his ear subsided, Ramirez relaxed. When Beck had passed out, it had caused a commotion in the tightly packed crowd, and in the confusion a scuffle had broken out. The disturbance had calmed down as quickly as it had started. The rifle withdrew again inside the shadows of the bell tower.

  * * *

  On the viewing platform below, oblivious to any problem, Mayor Rafael and his guests were preparing for the climax of the carnival. 'You have fireworks displays for your Señor Fawkes, Professor Granger?' the mayor was asking his distinguished guest. 'But only for Señor Fawkes. I am right, no? In Colombia we celebrate with fireworks many days of the year. But for our carnival here in Cartagena, we like the biggest. El óptimo! The very best. You shall soon see.'

  The mayor stood up to a roar of approval from the crowd, which he acknowledged with a statesman-like bow before making his way forward to a cluster of microphones at the front of the stage. Uncle Al listened with a polite smile to a speech that sounded much like the one he had just heard in the ballroom of the Hotel Casa Blanca. Only this time there was no mention of the Lost City. To the mayor's evident delight, once again the crowd laughed in all the right places.

  As Don Rafael turned to introduce this year's guest of honour with a regal flourish, Professor Granger recognized the words 'pirata inglés'. Caught off guard, he raised his panama hat and gave a nervous wave to the crowd, unsure what the mayor had been saying.

  Then the penny dropped. It was clear Mayor Rafael had a wicked sense of humour. Sir Francis Drake, the conqueror of the Spanish Armada, had stormed the city in 1586. In exchange for mercy, a huge ransom had been paid, and to this day all Englishmen were considered pirates. But judging by the reaction of the crowd, there were no hard feelings. Alan Granger breathed a sigh of relief.

  As the mayor's speech ended, mayhem was finally let loose in the night sky. Star bursts and flares exploded in a barrage of sound. Fire fountains bathed the crowd in rainbows of coloured light; they screamed and cheered in approval.

  Caught in the crush in the centre of the square, Beck was at last coming to his senses after his encounter with the Indian. He felt himself being shaken, and a voice he dimly recognized was yelling in his ear, 'Beck. Beck. What happened? Are you all right?' The voice wavered and echoed, as if someone were shouting down at him from the top of a well.

  Beck struggled to remember where he was. Loud bangs exploded all around him and a mad artist seemed to be chucking tins of paint around inside his skull. Then, in a flash, it came back to him. Cartagena. The twins. The carnival. The Indian with the gleaming eyes.

  Beck slowly sat up and looked around. The blood had drained from his normally ruddy features and his tousled brown hair was even more ruffled than usual.

  'Beck, Beck. Are you all right? What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost.' He recognized Christina's voice as Marco helped him to his feet.

  'What happened to the Indian?' muttered Beck. 'The Indian with the strange eyes. Surely you must have seen him?' He described the man he had seen in the crowd. He could picture him again now in his mind's eye – his white tunic, thick, dark eyebrows framing the glittering eyes.

  Christina listened intently, her mouth dropping open in disbelief as Beck described the man he had seen. 'Beck, the man you describe is a Kogi. You remember. The tribe who live in the forest of the Sierra Nevada, where the Lost City was found by Don Gonzalo.'

  'Yes,' said Marco, solemnly voicing his sister's unspoken thoughts. 'But there were no Kogis in the crowd today, Beck. The Mamas, their holy men, forbid it. You must have been dreaming it. You have a vivid imagination, my friend.'

  'But I saw him – and he spoke to me . . . Yes, I remember now. Perdido no más. He said it three times. That's Gonzalo's motto, isn't it?'

  Marco's answer was drowned out by a volley of bangs and flashes as a barrage of fireworks exploded overhead. The Grand Parade that marked the finale of the carnival had begun and the floats were being paraded in front of the VIP platform. The teenagers could see the mayor clapping and waving like a man possessed.

  'This is Dad's big moment,' shouted Christina. The effigy of Don Gonzalo was making its way unsteadily towards the stage. Accompanied b
y a guard of conquistadors, it waved drunkenly to the crowd as it rocked from side to side. When it came alongside, the mayor rose and signalled to Professor Granger to climb aboard. The two beauty queens Beck had seen earlier greeted the men with a kiss on each cheek and placed garlands of flowers around their necks.

  'Quick,' yelled Marco. 'We're near Gonzalo's Arch, where the parade leaves the square. If we hurry, we can watch the floats go by.'

  Still feeling slightly unsteady on his feet, Beck followed the twins as they snaked through the crush to where a group of Ramirez's men were hemming the crowd in with ropes on both sides of the route to the arch.

  'That's odd,' said Christina in Beck's ear. 'I've never seen the crowd kept away from the floats before. Ramirez has gone power crazy. I wish he'd just let everyone have some fun.' Beck looked at her blankly. 'He was that goon in the uniform who was talking to Dad in the ballroom just now,' she added. 'He's chief of police in Cartagena. Likes to think he runs the place.'

  Beyond the cordon of policemen, Beck could see the horses pulling Gonzalo's float snort nervously and paw the ground. They rolled their eyes as the bang and fizz of the explosions from the fireworks rocked the square. The two conquistadors holding the horses' heads were talking into earpieces and seemed to be nodding at the police.

  As Gonzalo's float passed by, they heard something that sounded like a tin can bouncing over the cobbles. It was followed by a muffled bang as clouds of dense smoke engulfed the crowd. Immediately the police closed in around them, pushing the crowd back towards the middle of the square.

  'Marco, Christina! Get down! Get down!' Beck shouted, pulling the twins to the ground. 'Something's wrong. That smoke isn't from a firework.'

  By now Ramirez's men were swarming everywhere and panic began to spread through the crowd. A series of loud bangs echoed around the buildings and Beck could see rifles appearing from behind balustrades on the roofs. A deep whop whop whop of helicopter blades descended from the sky above.