Empire of Gold

And now West’s expression had changed. It wasn’t outright suspicion, but caution, a feeling that he needed one more test to be passed before being fully satisfied. ‘It must have been very gratifying to beat a player as good as Kazim,’ he said. ‘Especially for such high stakes. How many times did you redouble?’

Eddie had no idea what West meant. His entire knowledge of backgammon came from one scene in the James Bond movie Octopussy, and since both players had been cheating that wasn’t a great deal of help. He assumed it was some kind of bet, like raising in poker, but what would be a believable answer?

And what if the question was a trick? Maybe redoubling, whatever that was, wasn’t allowed at the Red Lotus . . .

West expected an answer, though. So did his men, the two Malays tensing as the silence drew out.

He would have to bluff. ‘Oh, I don’t really remember. The whole evening went by in a bit of a haze!’

The overweight man stared at him . . . then his eyes flicked up to his men in an obvious sign of warning. Shit! He had failed the test; however hazy the evening, he would have been expected to remember if the Red Lotus allowed redoubling – and it was now clear that it didn’t.

West pulled the card from the reader and sat back. ‘You know, Mr Smythe, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help with your shipping needs after all. I don’t want to be involved in anything illegal. Terribly sorry. Now, it’s rather late, so my associates will escort you out.’

Reluctantly, Eddie and Kit stood, the Interpol agent shooting the Englishman an angry look. Eddie couldn’t blame him. The fish had shunned the bait, and without West’s entrapment the listening Singaporeans had no pretext on which to raid the office.

Unless they responded to some other incident . . .

The two Malays ushered Kit and Eddie to the door. Eddie glanced back. West was returning the memory card to its case, pudgy fingers fumbling with the tiny plastic sliver. They passed a window—

‘Oi!’ Eddie suddenly yelled, bogus accent gone as he whirled to face one of his escorts. ‘Get your fucking hands off me!’

The man froze, startled . . .

And Eddie hurled him bodily through the window.

7

The Malay screamed as he plummeted to the concrete amongst shattered glass and the clattering slats of the blind. He landed with a heavy thump, bruised but alive.

Eddie spun to face the other man – and took a hard punch that sent him crashing against a desk, scattering papers. Kit hit the goon in the jaw, knocking him back, but the thick-necked man straightened immediately and lunged at him.

Recovering, Eddie saw West grab a black object. Fear surged through him – a gun! – but it was just a walkie-talkie. Like a walking walrus, the obese man lumbered for the other door.

The Malay swung Kit round, slamming him into Eddie just as the Englishman started after West. Both men tumbled to the floor. The bodyguard tried to stamp on Kit’s head, but the Indian jerked away in time to avoid all but a glancing blow to the side of his face.

Eddie used a chair to haul himself to his feet, then swept it up and smashed it against the bodyguard’s skull. The man cried out, reeling. Eddie tried to swing again, but the piece of cheap office furniture fell apart in his hands, leaving him holding only the backrest. He threw it at the man’s face, then kneed the staggering figure in the groin.

The Malay lurched backwards into one of the shelving racks. It toppled over, knocking him to the floor beneath it – and dropping dozens of heavy box files on to Kit. He managed to protect his face, but still took several painful hits.

West was gone, the other door slamming shut. Eddie tried to pull Kit out from under the collapsed shelves. ‘No, go after him!’ Kit groaned. ‘Get the memory card!’

Eddie reluctantly let go and ran to the door. As he expected, it was locked. A couple of kicks took care of that. The room beyond was a small storeroom, a fire door swinging open in the back wall. He rushed to it and looked out into the rain. Metal steps led down to ground level.

No sign of West, but considering his bulk he couldn’t have got far. Eddie clanged down the stairs. If West had gone round to the front of the cabin, he would have been seen by the Singaporean officers. He must have headed deeper into the port. Which way, though? The towering maze of containers, stacked as many as five high, rose just yards away like a giant child’s building blocks. He listened for footsteps, but heard nothing. Not, he was reluctantly forced to admit, that he could have picked much out through the hiss of rain and rumble of distant machinery; years of exposure to gunshots and other loud noises had permanently affected his hearing.

He ran to a container and jumped to grab the edge of its roof, pulling himself up. The containers to each side were stacked two high; he leapt again and scrambled on top of one, then pounded along its forty-foot length to jump up once more. He was now over twenty-five feet above the ground, giving him more of a chance of spotting West – he hoped.

The containers were arranged in long blocks, six wide, with roadways between them housing the tracks for the gangling cranes. The nearest was to his left; he looked down into it. Nobody there. He hurried across to the right, rounding a gaping hole where several containers had been plucked from the tier. The other roadway was considerably wider, with room for containers to be lowered on to flatbed trailers. The great yellow crane spanning the block along which he was running was ahead, slowly lowering a container towards a waiting truck.

But the huge machine wasn’t what caught his attention. Instead, it was a rotund figure a hundred yards away, shouting into a walkie-talkie as he ran.

A look ahead told Eddie where he was going. The floodlit, slab-like sides of cargo ships rose above the containers. The waterfront.

But West wasn’t going to board a ship. He was trying to dispose of the memory card. On the ground, even in the dockland sprawl, the Singaporean authorities could use CCTV and dogs to retrace his steps and eventually find it. But in the water, amongst the currents and traffic and floating garbage, the tiny plastic chip would be lost for ever.

‘Not a fucking chance,’ Eddie muttered as he set off at a run. He could easily catch up with West on the ground – but first had to get down there.

He was too high up to risk dropping to the concrete. But doubling back and descending that way would cost him too much time. He needed an intermediate step . . .

The crane.

He ran at it, the driver in his elevated cabin reacting in surprise at the sight of the interloper, then hurriedly hitting the emergency stop. The container jolted to a halt above the trailer—

Eddie made a running jump, crossing the gap and landing with a bang on the container roof eight feet below. He ran along the container’s length, vaulted the end of the spreader and thumped down on his backside on the truck’s roof to slide off and drop the last nine feet to the ground.

The impact jarred his joints. He rolled with a pained grunt and jumped up. The startled truck driver threw open the cab door and yelled in Chinese, but Eddie was already running after West.

The fat man disappeared round a corner. Eddie pushed harder, reaching the corner of the container block just in time to see West make another turn about fifty yards ahead, still heading for the waterfront. Feet splashing through puddles, Eddie followed. At the turn he saw that he had closed the distance again, West only forty yards away. He would be able to tackle him well short of the sea—

Lights came on behind him, his running shadow stretching ahead on the wet ground.

He looked back – and saw a forklift bearing down on him.

Eddie jinked to one side of the roadway. The forklift changed course, tracking him. West had called for help over the radio, and a dock worker had responded.

The containers were stacked too high for him to climb. The machine charged at him like a bull, its forks great steel horns lowered to punch into his chest. Eddie backed against a container. He could see the driver’s face between the headlights, fixed in malevolent expectation—

‘Olé!’ Eddie cried, whirling and dropping flat as the twin forks speared over him and punched through the metal wall.

He had gambled with his life that the container was full – and it was. The vehicle slammed to a stop just short of him as the forks hit whatever was inside. The corrugated side tore open with a screech . . . and dozens of cans tumbled out of the mangled hole, thunking off him as he scrambled out from beneath the embedded tines. The sickly smell of dog food filled his nostrils.

The forklift whined and jolted as it tried to pull free. Eddie snatched up a can and hurled it at the driver’s head. There was a ringing clonk of metal against bone, and the man let out an almost comical squawk of pain before toppling nervelessly from the open cab.

Eddie looked back towards the waterfront. West was out of sight again, having gone down another intersecting roadway. Had the fat man gone left or right? If he followed the wrong path, it could cost him his chance to catch up.

He sprinted for the junction. Left or right? He had only a moment to make a choice—

He made it – and carried straight on.

Whichever way he had gone, West would still be heading for the sea. A broad expanse of rain-soaked concrete glistened in the floodlights between the end of the container stacks and a waiting ship.

He burst into the open, looking left, seeing nobody, right—

West was about thirty yards away – and twenty yards from the oily water behind the ship’s stern.

Eddie pounded after him. The gap closed with every step, but West had seen him, fear driving him faster. Nine yards, eight, seven, but the obese man was nearly there, about to throw the memory card into the sea. Yards shrank to feet, the tweed almost in reach—

West whipped his arm forward just as Eddie dived at him and clamped a hand over his, the tackle sending them both over the quayside.

They entered the water with a huge splash. Eddie’s eyes and nose immediately started to sting, the sea polluted with oil and anti-fouling biocides and effluent from the hundreds of ships that passed through each week. West thrashed; Eddie kept his grip on his hand, feeling the card’s sharp edge digging into his palm.

But it was slipping away, the fat man still desperate to lose the incriminating data even in his panic. If he opened his fingers, it would be gone . . .

Eddie pulled West’s hand to his face – and bit it.

A muffled gurgle of shock and pain, the card popping free – and Eddie sucked it into his mouth along with some of the foul water. The vile taste almost made him throw up, but he choked back the reflexive response and swallowed. He let go of West’s hand and shoved him away, then kicked upwards until his head broke the surface. Gasping, he shook water from his eyes and swam to the dock, taking hold of a concrete piling.

West surfaced, spluttering and screeching. ‘Help! Help me! I can’t swim!’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Eddie growled. He reluctantly pushed himself back out and grabbed West by his collar to haul him to the quay.

Running footsteps above. ‘Eddie!’ Kit shouted. ‘Eddie, where are you?’

‘Three bloody guesses!’ he called back.

A head peered over the edge. ‘Over here!’ said Kit, pointing. Other faces appeared, including Ayu’s. ‘We’ll get you out.’

A lifebelt was tossed down, which West eagerly grabbed, followed by a rope ladder. Before long, both men were on the dock, dripping. ‘I see I’m going to have to buy a new suit,’ Kit said unhappily at the sight of his oil-stained jacket.

‘You got promoted; you can afford it,’ Eddie replied, spitting to clear the revolting taste from his mouth. ‘Christ, that’s rank.’

West was already on the defensive. ‘I had no idea this was a police operation,’ he protested to the uniformed officers. ‘I thought I was being robbed – I was running for my life!’

Ayu struggled to bring his bloated arms together behind his back so she could handcuff him. ‘You’re involved in smuggling, Mr West. You’re under arrest.’

‘Smuggling?’ West hooted. ‘I’m sure you were recording the meeting, so check your tapes – I told them that under no circumstances would I get involved in anything illegal. Where’s your evidence?’

Kit turned to Eddie. ‘Where is our evidence, Eddie? What happened to the memory card?’

He patted his stomach, then indicated the polluted water. ‘With the amount of crap I swallowed, it’ll come out pretty quickly.’ A queasy grin. ‘From one end or the other.’

The port’s customs officials had all the facilities necessary to catch foreign objects as they left the human body, by whatever route. To Eddie’s relief, if it could be called that, a cup of clean but very salty water was enough to make him puke out his stomach contents into a bowl, rather than having to speed nature’s course along with a laxative. The memory card was recovered and cleaned; it had not been damaged by its brief immersion in either seawater or digestive acids.

Now, the data contained on it had been extracted. ‘This bloke West did ship stuff for the Khoils,’ Eddie told Nina via phone from Interpol’s Singapore office. ‘The statue the Khoils had in their vault, he smuggled it out of Japan.’

‘Japan? Do we know who it belonged to originally?’ Nina asked.

‘No, just which ports he moved it through. He’ll be questioned about it, though. Kit said there might be a plea bargain on offer. Oh, and Kit was right about the Venezuelan connection. West moved all those Inca treasures out of the country.’

‘Did they originate from Venezuela, though? Or was it just a transit point from Peru?’

‘Kit was checking a— Oh, hang on, here he is. You can ask him yourself.’ Kit entered, holding a sheaf of papers and looking pleased with himself. Eddie put the phone on speaker. ‘It’s Nina.’

‘Hi, Kit,’ she said. ‘Have you got something?’

‘I think I may have,’ he said, riffling through the pages. ‘As well as the files on West’s memory card, we also got a warrant for his phone records. A lot of international calls, as you’d expect – and many were to Venezuela. Most were mobile numbers, but there were also some to a landline in a town in the south of the country, a place called Valverde.’

‘Valverde?’

‘I already looked it up – it’s near the Orinoco river, about twenty-five kilometres from the Colombian border. Right on that line you put on the map in your office.’

‘What about the smuggled artefacts?’ she asked, with growing excitement. ‘Did they come from Venezuela originally?’

‘It looks that way. West was dealing directly with the seller. I think this is well worth investigating – another Interpol/IHA mission.’ Now it was the turn of Kit’s enthusiasm to rise. ‘I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that the Inca artefacts are coming from a region that is exactly in the direction you are looking. There’s a good chance we could find the source of the artefacts and shut down their black market sales, and find the third statue at the same time.’

‘Raleigh thought the lost city was somewhere along the Orinoco,’ said Nina. ‘The Incas might have hidden the third statue near Valverde! I’ll talk to Sebastian, get him to speak to the Venezuelans about an expedition. I think you’re right, Kit – I doubt this is a coincidence. If we find Paititi, we might be able to kill two birds with one stone.’

‘So long as we don’t get killed ourselves,’ said Eddie. ‘Somebody else must have found this place already, remember?’

‘I’m sure we’ll be able to arrange some local security. And you’ll be there to look after us too.’

‘And so will I,’ said Kit. ‘You can make the archaeological discoveries while Interpol stops these smugglers. We have already caught their middleman, and now we can catch them as well.’

‘Great,’ said Nina. ‘Better brush up on my Spanish, I suppose . . . ’

8

Venezuela

As it turned out, Nina didn’t need to work on her language skills in the four days it took to make the arrangements with the Venezuelan government. The moment she heard about the plan, Macy practically begged to volunteer her services. Though initially dubious, Nina knew one area where Macy’s abilities far outclassed her own: with her part-Cuban heritage, the young woman was completely fluent in Spanish. And, she had to admit, while Macy could sometimes be annoying, she was usually fun company.

Which right now was more than she could say of her husband. Though things had thawed, there was still the uncomfortable feeling of tiptoeing over eggshells around each other. Nina hated it – and was sure that Eddie did too – but neither was willing to make the first move and apologise to the other.

That said, there were larger matters on her mind. The United States and Venezuela were not close at the best of times, but over recent months the Venezuelan president, Tito Suarez, had made increasingly vocal accusations of US interference in his country’s affairs. The State Department, conversely, had noted increasing civil unrest in Venezuela’s cities, to the extent of issuing a suggestion – not quite a warning, but the subtext was clear – that American citizens should postpone all but essential visits to the Bolivarian Republic until the situation improved.

From the penthouse balcony of her Caracas hotel, however, Nina saw little evidence of brewing revolution in the city below, only cars and billboards and a giant video screen on the front of what she assumed from the mast on its roof was a television station. Despite her being an American, the Venezuelan government had rolled out the metaphorical red carpet for the IHA’s director and her expedition. She had a shrewd idea why; considering her past record, the prospect of her discovering a legendary city in the jungle would be irresistible, bringing the nation both international prestige and tourist money. She had never visited the country before, and had been surprised and impressed by its capital, a bustling and in places strikingly modern metropolis. There was clearly a lot of money at work.

However, it was also clear that, even under an ostensibly socialist government, that wealth was far from evenly spread. Beyond the skyscrapers, great chunks of the city were packed tight with ramshackle little structures: the barrios, home to millions of the urban poor. Yet between these cramped slums were towering condominiums, expansive villas, even golf courses. With a gap so large financially and small physically between rich and poor, it was easy to imagine resentments simmering away until they boiled over.

She wasn’t planning on staying long in Caracas, however. Returning to the suite – though it was a beautiful day, the stench of smog was stinging her sinuses – she joined Eddie, Macy and Kit to await their visitor.

He finally arrived over half an hour late, which could have been down to the gridlocked streets, but Nina suspected was just as likely due to his displeasure at being there at all. Dr Leonard Osterhagen, a burly German in his fifties with a trim salt-and-pepper goatee that matched his hair, worked for not the IHA but one of the other United Nations cultural organisations – and in very short order made his opinion of the newer agency plain. ‘I do not see why the IHA has assumed control of this expedition,’ he said. ‘And I resent being shanghaied from our dig in Peru.’

‘You weren’t shanghaied, Dr Osterhagen,’ said Nina in a placatory tone. ‘It was simply a request for inter-agency cooperation.’

‘Cooperation! It was an order, I think. When the IHA makes a demand, everyone else must dance for it.’

‘I’ll have to disagree with that interpretation,’ she said, her patience already wearing thin.

‘Well, of course you do. You are the one who benefits. The IHA takes money away from other agencies, diverts funds from serious research and puts it into grand exhibitions, like Atlantis. Our work is not supposed to be a fairground show.’ He gestured at Kit. ‘And we are archaeologists, not policemen! Why is Interpol involved?’

Nina passed a folder to Osterhagen. ‘Take a look.’

He scowled and flipped it open . . . and his expression became first one of shock, then wonder. Inside were the photographs of the black market artefacts Kit had shown her in New York. He shuffled back and forth through them before looking up at Nina in amazement. ‘Where were these found?’

‘That’s the thing,’ Nina said, relieved by his abrupt change of attitude. ‘They’d been sold on the black market, which is why Interpol got involved, but they were found here. In Venezuela. And that’s why I requested this meeting. You’re one of the world’s foremost experts in Inca history, so I thought you might be interested. But if you’d prefer to leave it to the IHA . . . ’

Sourness crept on to Osterhagen’s face as his displeasure at being played and his lust for knowledge fought it out, but the latter was quickly victorious. ‘The site these came from . . . you think it may be . . . ?’ He mouthed a word.

Nina spoke it for him. ‘Paititi. Somewhere in the south of the country, along the middle Orinoco.’

‘Paititi! In Venezuela? But – of course, Raleigh and the Manoans, Juan Martinez being set adrift. Twenty days’ travel along the Orinoco. It could be . . . ’ His gaze went right through Nina as he focused on the images in his mind.

‘So, Dr Osterhagen,’ she said, ‘are you interested in joining the expedition?’

He blinked, returning to the present. ‘I think . . . it would be best if you had an expert like myself accompanying you, yes. In the interests of inter-agency cooperation.’

She smiled thinly. ‘I’m glad you agree.’

Osterhagen regarded the photographs again. ‘I will need my assistants, of course.’

‘I’ll make the arrangements,’ Nina told him. The German gave her the details, then departed – with an almost pained look as he was made to return the photos of the Inca treasures.

‘Wow,’ said Macy. ‘I didn’t realise some people had such a problem with the IHA.’

‘Experts get very territorial,’ said Nina. ‘Especially when there’s funding involved.’

Eddie laughed. ‘Thank God you’ve never got stroppy with anyone who’s stepped on your turf, eh?’ He went to a large map of Venezuela laid out on a desk. ‘So we’ve got the expert on board. What about local support?’ He tracked the Orinoco river south along the Venezuelan-Colombian border until it turned back east into the former country, picking out the tiny dot that marked Valverde.

‘The Venezuelans are giving us a guide, and a pilot,’ said Nina, slightly annoyed by his jibe.

Kit joined Eddie at the map. ‘Military?’

‘Militia, I think.’

‘What’s the difference?’ asked Macy.

‘The militia’s loyal to el Presidente,’ said Eddie. ‘The military’s loyal to the country. Not always the same thing.’ He looked more closely at the map. ‘Better take plenty of bug repellent. That’s a big load of green nothing around there – jungle and swamps, probably.’

Nina looked at the photographs, then across at the case containing the two statues. ‘There’s something else there. Let’s hope we can find it.’

Two days later, the expedition assembled in the little jungle town of Valverde, where Nina discovered to her surprise that their Venezuelan guide and pilot were the same person. Oscar Valero was a heavy-set man in his forties, proudly dressed in the olive-green fatigues and cap of the Bolivarian Militia; it was also clear from his not exactly subtle questions that he had been told to keep a close watch on the yanquis.

Osterhagen, meanwhile, had been joined by his assistants – three of them, giving Nina the feeling that he was trying to match the numbers of ‘her’ team. Ralf Becker, gangling and thatch-haired, was another German and Osterhagen’s deputy, while the other two were Americans: Loretta Soto, a plump and shy Hispanic woman, and Day Cuff, a long-faced young man with a pretentious little triangular ‘soul patch’ beard. Cuff’s eyes had immediately locked on to Macy – more specifically, her chest – and it seemed nothing short of a nuclear strike would draw them away.

They met in the bar of the optimistically named Hotel Grande, mostly for the practical reason that it was Valverde’s only hotel, but also because of its connection to the Interpol investigation: a payphone in its lobby was the landline through which Stamford West had communicated with his local contact. Like the hotel, though, the payphone was the only one in Valverde. The stream of people using it seemed to rule out any chance of spotting an obvious suspect.

‘Lot of soldiers around here,’ Eddie noted as another uniformed man made a call. There had also been a visible military presence on the streets.

‘There is a base near here, to watch the border,’ explained Valero. ‘To keep out the drug-running dogs and the Colombian puppets of the gringo imperialists. No offence,’ he added with a cheery smile at Nina.

‘None taken,’ she replied icily. ‘You know what we need you to do for the aerial survey, right?’

‘Sí, no problem. If there’s something out there, we’ll find it. You wanna start now?’

The way Osterhagen leaned forward expectantly told Nina that she wasn’t the only one impatient to begin the search. ‘No time like the present.’

Becker sprang to his feet. ‘Great, okay, let’s go!’ he said enthusiastically as he donned a hat – a rather familiar-looking fedora.

Eddie grinned. ‘He thinks he’s Indiana Jones,’ he whispered to Nina.

‘All archaeologists think they’re Indiana Jones,’ Nina replied as she stood, equally amused. ‘Well, except the ones who think they’re Lara Croft.’

He regarded the tall, bony German. ‘I’m glad he went for the Indy look. I wouldn’t want to see him in Lycra and hot pants.’ His smile widened. ‘Now Macy, on the other hand . . . ’ His wife batted his arm.

Valverde was about two kilometres south of the Orinoco, its airstrip between the two. It was only a ten-minute walk from the Grande to what passed as a terminal, a hut with radio masts rising not quite vertically from its roof. The expedition members had been flown in by government helicopters, but the waiting aircraft was considerably more basic – a Cessna Caravan, a single-propeller, nine-seater light plane that was as unexciting and utilitarian in appearance as its name suggested.

‘Oh,’ said Cuff in sneering disappointment. ‘That’s what we’re flying in? I was hoping for something a bit less prehistoric.’

Valero seemed insulted. ‘It’s only twenty-five years old, perfectly safe. What did you expect? A jumbo jet?’

Cuff wasn’t satisfied. ‘Whatever, it’d better be well maintained if you expect me to set foot in it. Although somehow I doubt Venezuelan airworthiness testing is quite up to FAA standards . . .’

Eddie had already taken a dislike to the smug twenty-something, and decided he wasn’t going to put up with an entire flight of whining. ‘Hey, Dave, how about not pissing off the guy we need to keep us from a fiery screaming death?’

The already nervous Loretta looked even more upset at the thought, but Cuff responded with a haughty huff. ‘It’s not Dave. It’s Day. Day F. Cuff.’

‘Oh, of the Boston Cuffs, no doubt,’ Eddie said in his Roger Moore voice, guessing that he was supposed to be impressed. ‘Well, since it’s going to be a long flight, either stop moaning or F. Cuff off.’

‘Eddie,’ Nina chided, trying to conceal her amusement.

Cuff’s mood was far more readable. ‘You know, Leonard,’ he said to Osterhagen, ‘I think I’ll sit this out. Aerial surveys aren’t my speciality.’

Osterhagen frowned, but nodded. ‘And Loretta, you don’t look very happy. Do you want to stay here too?’

‘Thank you,’ Loretta said with a relieved sigh. ‘I really don’t like flying. I – I’m sure this is a very good plane,’ she hurriedly added to Valero, ‘but it makes me nervous.’

The Venezuelan shrugged. ‘Two less people, it saves me fuel. No problem!’

Cuff set off back towards town, Loretta following. Macy nudged Eddie. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered.

‘For what?’

‘For getting rid of him. What a creep. Didn’t you see the way he was staring at me?’

‘Nah, I was too busy looking at your tits,’ said Eddie, grinning - earning him swats from both the remaining women.

Everyone boarded the plane as Valero circled it to make his pre-flight checks. That done, he clambered inside and took a navigation chart from a door pocket. ‘Okay, this is where we go,’ he said, pointing out the planned search pattern. ‘We keep out of this grid, though.’ He tapped a rectangular marking near the border. ‘Military airspace.’

‘Be just our luck if what we’re looking for is right in the middle of some army base,’ said Eddie, checking the map for settlements and landmarks. It was unlikely that anything would go wrong during the flight, but he preferred to be prepared.

Valero shook his head. ‘If the military had found anything, President Suarez would know. No point sending you to look for something he already knows about, hey?’ He fastened his seatbelt. ‘Okay, you ready?’

‘Let’s go,’ said Nina.

Valero donned his headphones and started the engine, steering the Cessna to the end of the landing strip. He spoke with local air traffic control over his headset, then looked back at his passengers. ‘Hold on tight,’ he said. ‘This will be bumpy.’

He revved the engine to full, then released the brakes. The Cessna surged forward. Macy yelped as she was jolted about, and Nina gripped her seat as hard as she could to hold herself in place. Even though the worst of the unpaved runway’s dips and humps had been bulldozed out, it felt like riding a bicycle with flat tyres over jagged rocks.

‘Glad we didn’t – pack the – fine china for the picnic,’ Eddie managed to get out through his rattling teeth.

Valero laughed, adjusting the trim controls and pulling back on the control yoke. The Cessna tipped back, then a few seconds later the battering stopped as it left the ground. Sounds of relief filled the cabin.

‘Jeez,’ said Nina. ‘The only rougher flight I’ve had was the one that crashed!’ Another laugh from Valero, and he brought the Caravan up to two thousand feet before turning to begin the aerial survey.

The Cessna had been chosen for the task because its wings were mounted above the fuselage, giving its occupants an uninterrupted view of the landscape. The low cruising altitude was near enough to the ground to let the observers pick out details, but still give them the expansive overview they needed. The Orinoco, in places an almost mile-wide gently snaking line of reflected sky and patchy cloud, passed below; on each side, green pointillist swathes of dense jungle, dotted with darker patches of swampland, stretched off to the horizon.

Macy gazed down at the rainforest, awed by its scale. ‘How are we going to spot anything in all that?’

Osterhagen was the expert. ‘We look for straight lines – any sign of artificial construction. It’s how the ruins of a pre-Colombian civilisation were found on the border of Brazil and Bolivia about ten years ago.’

‘Also watch for sawtooth patterns, zigzags,’ added Becker, waving a finger to illustrate. ‘The Incas often built defensive walls that way.’

Macy nodded, then looked back out of the window. The others did the same, scanning the ground below with eyes and binoculars as Valero brought the plane into its search pattern.

The first sector contained nothing but trees and marsh. As did the second, and the third. Eddie, however, spotted something in the fourth after they crossed back to the south side of the river. ‘Is that a road over there?’ he asked Valero, pointing.

The pilot looked through his side window. ‘Sí. It goes through Valverde to Matuso, to the south. Oh, and there is another road off it that goes to the military base.’ He gestured westwards. A faint line could be made out, winding through miles of jungle until it reached a distinctly rectilinear patch of brown amongst the greenery.

Eddie peered at it through binoculars. ‘Radar station, it looks like.’ Even at this distance he could make out a rectangular antenna. He also spotted various small buildings and an empty concrete helipad. No hangar to protect a chopper from the jungle elements, though, so airborne visitors probably didn’t stay long.

‘Hey, hey!’ Valero held up a hand, trying to block his view. ‘No spying, okay?’

Smiling at the Venezuelan’s paranoia, Nina turned her attention back to the jungle. South of the Orinoco was a mostly flat plain of nothing but rainforest for two hundred miles to the Brazilian border, and well beyond. If the Incas had come all the way here from their homeland in the Andes, they had picked as good a spot as any to hide their settlement. She knew from first-hand experience how hard it was to pick out even large structures beneath the jungle canopy.

The plane flew on. There was a moment of excitement when Osterhagen saw something that at first glance appeared man-made, but, when Valero circled, it was revealed as nothing more than a low ridge of granite breaking up through the soil. Another sector cleared, on to the next, the Cessna diligently avoiding the restricted airspace surrounding the base. The engine’s constant drone and vibration became increasingly wearisome as the flight stretched into its second hour, as did the sheer visual monotony of the greenery below. The only variation came from more rocky scarps pushing their way up into the jungle, but disappointment further blunted the thrill of potential discovery as each flypast revealed nothing but natural stone. Then—

‘Is that another road?’ Macy asked.

Nina glimpsed a thin brown line amongst the trees. ‘Not much of one. More like a track.’

Osterhagen checked a map. ‘There is nothing marked on here.’

Valero looked down at the narrow path. ‘A logging track,’ he said, disgusted. ‘This whole region is prohibido for logging.’ He pulled a notepad and pencil from the door pocket, scribbling down the GPS coordinates. ‘I will have to report this when we land.’

‘Wait,’ said Nina, a thought occurring. ‘How far are we from the road between Valverde and that other town?’

Eddie checked the GPS unit, then applied the figures to Osterhagen’s map. ‘Two or three miles, maybe. What’re you thinking?’

‘Well, we know somebody discovered a trove of Inca artefacts. What if they were loggers? They went deep into the jungle to look for hardwood trees . . . but found something a lot more valuable.’

‘And then used the payphone in Valverde to talk to West after finding buyers,’ said Kit. ‘It’s possible.’

Nina tried to follow the track. It was only intermittently visible, the work of the loggers ironically having exposed their secret to view from the air, but now she knew it was there she could just about make out its course. ‘Fly along it,’ she told Valero. ‘If we don’t see anything, we can go back to the search pattern. But if these loggers really did find Paititi . . . ’

Valero changed course, reducing the Cessna’s speed as its occupants all stared intently at the jungle below. The track curved confusingly in places, the loggers apparently having gone out of their way to fell specific trees, but in general it headed westwards. Nina looked further ahead . . .

A distinct line ran through the trees. She almost dismissed it as another geological feature – until something else about it caught her attention. ‘There!’ she said, sitting up and pointing. ‘Do you see it?’

Osterhagen took a sharp breath, pressing his face against the window for a better look. ‘Yes. Yes, I do! Oscar, take us closer.’

Valero complied, turning the Cessna. From some angles the feature almost vanished into the jungle – but from others it stood out clearly, even through the all-covering vegetation. It was faint, like a shadow or a ghostly impression of an item long since removed, but it was definitely there. A shape, a few hundred metres long.

A zigzag. Too regular, too precise to be natural.

Macy turned excitedly to Osterhagen. ‘Inca defences, just like you said.’

The German couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight. ‘It must be, yes. It must be!’

Nina examined the surrounding landscape as the plane continued to circle. At one end of the mysterious line, the ground sloped steeply away to marshland, hints of a cliff visible through the tall trees. A cliff would provide a natural defence on one side; had a wall been built on others to protect a settlement?

There was only one way to know for sure. ‘We’ve got to get down there,’ she announced. ‘I think we’ve found Paititi!’

9

The Toyota Land Cruiser picked its way along the narrow track, mud squishing out from beneath its tyres. Another vehicle, a twin save for its colour, followed.

Eddie was driving, Nina beside him and Macy and Kit in the rear seats, the young woman yawning from the early start. Valero piloted Osterhagen’s group in the second 4×4, the two men having the most off-roading experience. Even so, it was slow going. The day before, Valero had flown back along the track to find where it joined the road, but this morning, even knowing the approximate location, it took some time to discover the trail; it had been concealed, bushes and a mouldering log covering the turnoff. And the track itself constantly twisted between the trees, bushes and low branches swatting the Toyotas as they crawled past.

Eddie checked the odometer. ‘Five miles since we left the road. Can’t be much further.’ He hauled the wheel over to avoid a large jutting bough, the vehicle lurching over the ruts carved by dragged logs.

Macy liberally spritzed herself with insect repellent. ‘I just had a thought—’

‘First time for everything,’ Eddie cut in.

She slapped his shoulder. ‘No, but what if the people who found it come back? They might be armed.’

The same had occurred to Eddie, who had been less than pleased at the Venezuelans’ refusal to let him or even Kit bring weapons into the country. However, he tried to sound reassuring. ‘Oscar’s got a gun.’

‘If he knows how to use it. I was chatting to him last night. You know what he used to be before he joined the militia?’

‘A pilot?’ Nina suggested.

‘Well, yeah,’ Macy said peevishly, ‘but before that, I meant. He was a chef! That’s not exactly like being in the SAS.’

‘Depends how bad a cook he was,’ said Eddie. ‘If he got a lot of complaints, he’d have to— Whoa, hang on.’ He slowed sharply. ‘End of the road.’

They entered a clearing, ragged stumps showing where the loggers had chainsawed down several valuable hardwood trees. A steep bank of earth rose ahead. Layers of tyre tracks in the dirt showed that the area had seen a fair amount of traffic.

‘There’s another path over there,’ said Nina, indicating the bank.

‘Not sure it’s drivable, though,’ Eddie replied. He stopped the Land Cruiser. ‘It’s probably better to go on foot from here . . . and there’s something I want to check.’

‘What?’ Nina asked, but he had already hopped out, eyes fixed on something on the ground nearby. Curious, she followed.

‘Oh, ew,’ said Macy, wrinkling her nose as she stepped into the mud. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘That would be the jungle,’ said Cuff patronisingly as he got out of the second Toyota. He closed his eyes and waved a hand under his nose as if wafting the scent of some delicious meal into his nostrils. ‘The most diverse ecosystem on the planet. The lungs of the world. Just smell that life.’

‘I can smell something,’ Macy said, adding ‘like bullshit’ under her breath. Despite the repellent, small insects were swarming round her; she flapped a hand before treating them to a burst of spray.

Osterhagen emerged from the Land Cruiser behind Cuff. ‘Why have you stopped? We can go . . . ’ He tailed off as Eddie waved urgently for silence.

‘What is it?’ Nina whispered.

Her husband crouched and pointed at the mud. ‘These tyre tracks, they’re recent. Less than a day old – there hasn’t been time for any rain to wash them out.’ In the humid equatorial climate of the rainforest, downpours were an almost metronomic occurrence. He went to the nearby path. ‘And there are some footprints here.’

The others joined them, the atmosphere suddenly tense. Kit peered at the impressions in the soil. ‘Different sizes – two men.’

Eddie nodded. ‘They go into the jungle . . . but they don’t come back out.’

That produced consternation amongst the group. ‘Are you saying there are people here?’ asked Loretta nervously.

‘Guards, maybe,’ said Nina. ‘A treasure trove of Inca gold . . . they’d want to make sure nobody else found it.’

Eddie checked the surrounding trees. No signs of movement, or sounds beyond the chatter of birds and buzz of insects, but he was now very much on the alert. ‘Oscar, you might want to keep that gun handy.’ Valero hurriedly drew his weapon and checked it was loaded. Loretta gasped in alarm.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Cuff. ‘Why would they post guards when nobody else knows this place exists? It’s not as though anybody’s likely to stroll by.’

Eddie gave him a contemptuous look. ‘No, the plane that circled it yesterday wouldn’t attract any attention, would it, Dave?’

‘That’s Day,’ Cuff mumbled, trying to salvage some dignity under the group’s withering gaze.

‘So what should we do?’ asked Becker. ‘If there are guards, we could be in danger.’

‘We have to go on,’ Nina insisted. ‘We’ve got to know what’s out there.’

‘I agree,’ said Valero. ‘If thieves are stealing Venezuela’s treasures, the Bolivarian Militia will stop them!’ He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring defiantly into the jungle.

‘Easy there, Rambo,’ Eddie said. ‘Let’s see what we’re dealing with first. If it really is this place we’re looking for and there are people keeping an eye on it, we’ll call el Presidente’s people for backup.’ He indicated the satellite phone in the Toyota. ‘We’re not exactly geared up for trouble.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Nina. ‘Let’s get our stuff.’

The expedition members donned backpacks and equipment belts. Valero started up the path, but Eddie waved him back. ‘Not that way – we don’t want to walk right into ’em.’ He gestured at a point further along the earth bank. ‘Over there. Keep it quiet.’

Eddie and Valero led, Nina just behind with the others following in a line. Keeping low amongst the undergrowth, they scaled the bank and dropped down on the other side to find themselves in a marshy dip. Despite the humps and hollows, though, the land ahead was on a gentle rise.

It started to rain, drops pattering noisily off leaves and heads. Nina shot a jealous look at Becker’s wide-brimmed fedora. But even the downpour gave little relief from the cloying humidity as the group trudged onwards. She peered into the gloom. ‘I can’t see much out there.’

‘Good,’ said Eddie. ‘Anybody out there won’t see much of us.’ He paused at the top of another muddy bank, then gestured off to one side. ‘I think there’s something over there.’

Nina squinted through the rain. There was indeed a vague shape visible beyond the trees. ‘A wall?’

She started towards it, but Eddie waved her back. ‘Wait here until I’ve checked it out. Oscar, with me.’ Hunching down, the Englishman slowly advanced towards the indistinct shape, Valero behind him. Nina watched anxiously as they disappeared behind the trees. She strained to listen over the constant drum of raindrops for an unexpected shout, a gunshot . . .

Eddie reappeared, waving for her to join him. She breathed out in relief and picked her way forward, Osterhagen and Becker behind her. As she got closer she realised that it was a wall, partially hidden by plants, crumbling in places and covered with centuries of dirt and decayed jungle debris, but definitely an artificial structure. At its tallest it stood about nine feet high.

Becker had seen something above it, however. ‘Look,’ he said, gesticulating excitedly. Set several feet back on its top was a second wall, rising another eight feet higher – and a third above that. ‘It’s tiered! Just like the walls at Sacsayhuamán.’

Osterhagen was nearly as enthused. ‘And look! The shape, the zigzag – these are Inca, I’m sure!’

‘Shh, shh, shut up!’ Eddie hissed, scurrying towards the group. Nina gave him a questioning glance. ‘There’s a gap like a big gate further along,’ he said. ‘That path goes through it, so those two blokes who we don’t want to know we’re here,’ he glowered at the Germans, ‘probably did too.’

Becker looked sheepish, hiding from Eddie’s glare beneath his hat brim. Osterhagen, meanwhile, turned his attention back to the wall. ‘If we climb it, we can try to spot these men from the top.’

‘There’s a collapsed bit over there,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ll go up and have a gander. If it’s safe, I’ll wave.’ By now, Valero had returned, and the other members of the group were approaching through the trees. ‘Oscar, keep an eye on the gate. Any trouble at all, everyone run like buggery back to the Jeeps. Okay?’

He went to the damaged section and scrambled up it, then searched for a suitable point to climb to the next tier. Finding a section where several large stones had been dislodged, he used the gaps as footholds and ascended again, disappearing from Nina’s view. The downpour was easing off, the water torture of the large drops giving way to a clammy drizzle.

After a minute, he leaned over the edge and waved. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll go up first. Oscar, watch the gate until everyone’s clear.’ Valero’s eyebrows twitched at being given orders by her, but he nodded.

It didn’t take long for Nina to reach Eddie’s position on top of the wall. By now, the rain had stopped, drips from the overhanging trees gradually slowing to nothing. He was on his stomach, looking out across what lay beyond the fortifications; she dropped and slithered alongside him, taking in the view.

It rendered her speechless. Inside the walls was a town, abandoned and in ruins, but still stunning to behold. The shells of stone buildings were packed tightly together, tall gables marking where roofs of wood and thatch had once been. Trees had taken root amongst them, breaking down walls and concealing the structures beneath the jungle canopy. Narrow streets meandered through the outermost parts of the settlement, becoming straighter and wider as they neared the centre, where the buildings increased in size and grandeur.

Temples, and palaces. The heart of the last outpost of the Inca empire.

Paititi. The legend was real.

But they were not the first to find it. ‘Have you seen the guards?’ she asked.

‘Not yet,’ Eddie replied, ‘but I heard something over there.’ He pointed at one of the larger buildings.

There was a rattle and clunk of loose stones, and they looked back to see Osterhagen, breathing heavily, pull himself on to the uppermost tier. Becker, Kit and Macy appeared behind him. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ Eddie grumbled. ‘What is this, a fucking conga line? I didn’t mean everyone to come up here. It’s not safe yet.’

Osterhagen didn’t hear, spellbound by the vision before him. ‘Phantastisch . . . ’ he whispered, gazing at the ruins, then fumbled to take a camera from his pack, as if afraid the marvel could vanish at any moment.

Eddie grabbed his wrist. ‘If that flashes, it won’t just be the Incas who practise human sacrifice – I’ll have a bloody go!’

Osterhagen pulled free, but checked that the flash was switched off before taking his first picture. ‘Mr Chase, I know you are trying to keep us safe, but I do not like your attitude.’

‘You’ll like getting shot even less, Doc. Trust me, I know.’

‘So do I,’ added Nina. Osterhagen looked shocked. ‘What do you make of it?’

The German surveyed the ruins. The outer walls, as much as could be seen through the interloping trees, enclosed an area roughly two hundred metres square. ‘It is smaller than Machu Picchu, but there may be other ruins outside the fortifications. The architecture is definitely late-period Inca, though.’

‘The black market artefacts – where would they have been kept?’

He indicated one of the larger structures, a thick-walled block with numerous small trapezoidal windows high along its sides. ‘The royal palace, most likely. Or’ – a smaller one, unlike its neighbours in that its walls were curved – ‘the Temple of the Sun.’

‘If that’s where the gold is,’ Eddie pointed out, ‘it’s probably where the guards are too.’

The remaining expedition members had by now scaled the wall, and were reacting with amazement. Loretta put a hand to her mouth, on the verge of weeping with joy. ‘Look at it, look! I never dreamed we’d find anywhere so intact!’

Even Cuff’s seen-it-all-before smugness had temporarily deserted him. ‘Jesus. This is incredible. There’s so much of it - where do we start?’

‘You start by staying put until I find those guards,’ said Eddie, moving cautiously along the wall. Not far away was a stairway down to ground level; it had partially collapsed, but he was able to half climb, half slide down it, jumping the last six feet. ‘Oscar, down here. Watch the last bit, it’s slippery.’

Valero negotiated the ruined stairs rather more clumsily. Eddie was about to investigate a nearby building when he saw Nina also scrambling down. ‘No, I meant all of you to stay up— Oh, never bloody mind.’

‘I’m not going to blunder into the guards, Eddie,’ Nina said as she dropped to the ground. ‘I just want a look around. If there’s any trouble, I’ll go straight back up the wall.’

‘I’m already halfway there,’ he muttered.

‘What?’

‘Didn’t say a word.’ Running between the high wall and a terrace of what he guessed were small houses was a pathway leading to the outer gate, but a narrower alley nearby would, he thought, give a better chance of reaching the settlement’s centre unseen. ‘Okay, Nina, we’re going to check out that noise. Back soon. And don’t wander off!’ he added firmly over his shoulder.

‘Love you too,’ Nina replied with a mocking smile as she entered the building. To her disappointment, the interior, a single room with no other entrances apart from a small window, was wrecked. Rotted remains of the wooden roof were strewn across the floor, plants sprouting from the rich compost that had built up as leaves fell through the open ceiling. Fragments of broken pottery poked from the loam. She nudged one with her boot, then saw something more interesting – a stone sphere, slightly smaller than a tennis ball. A length of thick rope was knotted through a hole in its centre. A bolas? She gingerly lifted the ball, tugging the weapon’s other two cords clear of the soil - and felt the mouldering rope start to fall apart.

‘Oops! Shit,’ she gasped, hurriedly returning it to its resting place and going back outside – to see Osterhagen jumping down from the ruined stairway, Becker and Cuff descending behind him.

‘What did you find in there?’ he asked, eagerly approaching her. ‘Are there any surviving artefacts?’

Nina ignored his question, trying to block his path. ‘What are you doing? Eddie told you to wait up there.’

‘He told you the same thing,’ Cuff sniffed.

Now Macy and Kit were climbing down too. ‘Sorry, Nina,’ said Macy. ‘I tried to tell everyone to stay up there, but only Loretta listened.’

Nina looked up to see Loretta peering over the top of the wall. ‘Well, at least one person’s got some sense. Okay, look – everybody stay here until Eddie and Oscar come back. This place has been waiting since the sixteenth century, so a few more minutes won’t make any difference.’

Eddie and Valero moved cautiously through the ruined town. The Englishman had already confirmed that they were not the first explorers, spotting broken stems where people had forced their way through the vegetation reclaiming the settlement.

None of the damage seemed recent, though; more like weeks or even months old.

He had a theory: the loggers had trampled through the whole place searching for valuables. After picking the outlying buildings clean, they had no reason to return, instead concentrating on the central buildings that Osterhagen said would have contained the greatest treasures. The men whose trail he had spotted in the jungle were probably guarding the remainder of the hoard.

And they were close by. Eddie stopped, waving for Valero to do the same, as the tang of cigarette smoke reached him. He listened intently, picking out the muted sound of men talking in Spanish.

He peered round the corner of a building. Before him was a plaza, dotted with trees that had forced their way up through the cracked stone flags. At the western end, a broad flight of steps led up to the rounded building that Osterhagen had called the Temple of the Sun.

Something less imposing but more modern dominated his attention, though. A small canvas hut had been set up near the steps, its walls a jungle-green camouflage pattern. The entry flap was half open, giving him a glimpse of equipment inside.

So where were its occupants?

He leaned out further. In a gap between the trees was a large, oddly proportioned crate resembling a giant pizza box, about five feet square but less than a foot thick. Beside it were the two guards.

Soldiers.

Both men wore Venezuelan army fatigues, in the same camo pattern as the tent. They were armed with AK-103 assault rifles, updated and locally made versions of the venerable AK-47; one had his gun slung loosely over his back, the other had propped his weapon against a nearby tree. It was obvious from their relaxed stances that they weren’t expecting trouble.

Eddie signalled for Valero to take a look. He reacted in surprise. ‘What is the army doing here?’ he whispered. ‘I don’t understand. If the government knows about this place, why weren’t we told?’

‘I don’t think your government does know,’ Eddie replied grimly. ‘This is someone’s private little operation. Probably run from that base – it’s only about five miles from here.’ He nodded to the northwest. ‘They take any treasures they find to Valverde, and then they get sold on the black market.’

‘But – but that is treason!’ said Valero, outraged. ‘They are stealing from the people of Venezuela, their own brothers!’

‘Family doesn’t count for much when there’s big money involved.’

One soldier flicked away his cigarette and ambled back towards the tent, skirting patches of mud where the flagstones had subsided. The other checked his watch, then picked up his AK and followed.

Eddie moved back. ‘We should leave.’

‘No,’ Valero insisted. ‘As a member of the Bolivarian Militia, if a crime is being committed it is my duty to stop it.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘I will talk to these men, and if I do not like their answers, I will arrest them.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Both soldiers were tall and muscular, and looked to Eddie as if their combined ages matched Valero’s alone. ‘They’re not going to bend over for an ex-chef.’

The Venezuelan scowled, insulted, and put one hand on his sidearm. ‘They will do what I tell them. I have a gun.’

‘They’ve got two.’

‘I have authority from the President himself! I am in charge here, gringo.’

He started towards the plaza, but Eddie held out an arm to block him. ‘Seriously, mate. Bad idea. We should get back to the Jeeps and you can call your people from there.’

Valero pushed him away. ‘Wait here. I will deal with this.’ He headed into the open.

‘Fucking idiot,’ Eddie growled, watching from the corner. So inattentive were the soldiers that they didn’t notice the approaching militiaman until he was barely twenty feet from them – at which point they reacted with a start, fumbling for their rifles.

Valero drew his gun. They froze. He spoke commandingly in Spanish as he strode up to them, no doubt demanding to know what they were doing. To Eddie’s surprise, they responded, if uncertainly; it seemed that he had been the domineering kind of chef. One of them pointed towards the temple. Valero instinctively turned to look—

The other soldier whipped up his rifle and viciously clubbed him in the head.

Valero staggered, and the soldier hit him again, knocking him down. His companion slammed a kick into his stomach, then grabbed the fallen man’s pistol before kicking him once more.

‘Shit!’ Eddie hissed, torn between two instincts. He didn’t want to abandon Valero, but he needed to warn Nina and the others. The soldiers would assume that the intruder wasn’t alone, and either start hunting for the archaeological team or call for backup—

The decision was made for him as one of the soldiers spotted him lurking in the alley. The man shouted and raised his gun.

Eddie turned and ran as bullets cracked off the stonework behind him.

10

Nina whirled in horror at the sound of gunfire. The echoes of the first burst faded away, the cries of frightened birds replacing them – then came another harsh rattle of shots.

Nearer.

‘Get back over the wall!’ she shouted to the others.

‘Where are you going?’ Kit demanded as the explorers rushed for the ruined stairway.

‘To find Eddie!’ She charged down the alley.

Becker, closest to the steps, was the first to begin his ascent. Osterhagen followed, picking his way up the broken section. Loose stones rattled under his weight. ‘Come on, schnell!’ he called down to his companions, before looking up at the panicked figure on top of the wall. ‘Loretta, run to the Jeeps!’

Cuff was right behind him, practically barging his team leader aside as he tried to claw his way up the broken stairs. ‘Move it, move it!’ he yelled. ‘I don’t wanna—’

A block burst loose under his foot. He tripped, chest thudding against the hard-edged stones, and fell back down to the ground. The entire base of the stairs collapsed, stones crashing after him. Osterhagen almost slipped as part of his footing disappeared.

‘You idiot!’ Kit shouted at the winded American. ‘You almost brought the whole thing down!’ Above, Becker hauled Osterhagen to safety. ‘Macy, I’ll pull you up.’

‘What about Nina and Eddie?’ she protested.

‘You can’t help them – you’ve got to get out of here!’ He jumped to grab the surviving part of the stairway as another burst of fire rolled through the ruins.

Eddie raced through the crooked streets, swatting greenery out of his path. Only one soldier was pursuing, the other holding Valero, but the AK-103’s firepower meant that he was completely outmatched. His only chance was to draw his pursuer away from the rest of the team, then either lose him in the maze or stage an ambush—

‘Eddie! Eddie, where are you?’

Nina, somewhere ahead. Shit! So much for leading the man away from the others! ‘They’re soldiers! Get back!’ he yelled, rounding a corner to see her running towards him. Another three-round burst cut through the air behind, chipped stone spitting at his head. Nina hurriedly reversed direction, disappearing from view.

He only had a short lead – shorter than the stretch of the alley before him. The soldier would have a clear shot at his back . . .

A gap between two buildings to his right formed a small courtyard, a five-foot-high wall at its rear. Eddie swerved into the space just as the soldier saw him and fired again, bullets hissing through the air in his wake. He leapt at the wall, slapping his palms down hard on its top to vault over it—

The ivy-covered stones broke away beneath his hands.

Thrown off balance, he hit the wall and tumbled over it, realising too late that the drop on the other side was much higher . . .

All that saved him from serious injury as he slammed to the ground twelve feet below was the centuries-old build-up of dirt – and even that couldn’t prevent a bone-jarring landing. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he bit his cheek.

He groaned and spat out a crimson glob, levering himself upright. Footsteps slapped through the alley above. The soldier was right on him. The only way out of the sunless pit was through a narrow passage.

He ran for it.

The AK’s thudding bark filled the confined space as the soldier leaned over the broken wall and fired. Bullets kicked up mud as they smacked into the ground, but Eddie was in the passage, the rest of the shots twanging noisily off the ancient stonework. Trampling plants, he darted round a corner to find a flight of steps winding upwards. He hurriedly ascended them, listening for the thump of the soldier jumping down after him.

It didn’t come. The Venezuelan wasn’t willing to take a leap into the unknown. Instead, he was continuing along the alley.

After Nina.

Nina raced back to the stairway, seeing Kit trying to pull Macy up. Osterhagen and Becker had just reached the top of the wall, but Cuff was still waiting anxiously at its base. ‘Soldiers!’ she shouted. ‘Right behind me – everyone run!’

Macy gave Kit a fearful look – even with his help, she was still having trouble climbing. There was no way she could reach the top of the wall before Nina’s pursuer arrived. ‘Hide!’ the Interpol agent ordered. She nodded, and he released her hands. Arms flailing for balance, she scuttled back down the pile of stones and ran for the roofless buildings.

‘Hey! What about me?’ yelped Cuff as Kit rushed up the stairs after the two Germans.

‘Just run, you moron!’ Nina yelled as she sprinted past him into another undergrowth-clogged alley. He hesitated, then started to follow—

‘Hey! Alto!’

The soldier burst into the open, aiming his gun at Cuff. The American gasped in terror, throwing up his hands. The Venezuelan looked round, glimpsing Macy as she ducked into the house Nina had explored earlier. Movement above – he fired at Kit, but the Indian threw himself the last few feet up the steps and disappeared over the top of the great wall.

His smoking AK-103 fixed on Cuff’s chest, the soldier advanced on him. ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot me!’ Cuff stammered. ‘I – I have dollars! American dollars!’ One shaking hand reached to a pocket. The soldier’s finger tightened on the trigger. ‘No, no, no! Please! Dollars, see?’ He took out his wallet and tremblingly thumbed it open to reveal a wad of banknotes inside, then tossed it to the ground. ‘Take it!’

The soldier regarded the money for a moment, then lowered the rifle. Cuff whimpered in relief – and the weapon’s stock smashed into his mouth, spilling blood and broken teeth. He collapsed on the muddy ground, clutching his jaw and moaning. A dark patch spread on his trousers as he wet himself.

His attacker shot him a brief sneer, then turned to hunt another intruder.

Macy.

The archaeology student was already regretting her choice of hiding place. The ancient house was more like a cell; small, devoid of concealment and with no other exit – except the window. She slipped her arms into the hole. It was narrower at the top than the bottom, but she hauled herself through, head and shoulders clearing the sill as she wriggled the rest of her body out—

A single gunshot, the bullet shattering part of the lintel. Stone chips stung her backside and thighs. She screamed, freezing.

‘Well, look at that!’ said a man in Spanish with a mocking laugh. ‘Now that’s a gorgeous ass – and in just the right position.’ Macy heard him cross the room. ‘Maybe I should keep you there, eh? Have some fun.’ She flinched as a hand squeezed her left buttock. ‘Now that’s—’

There was a muffled crack, followed by the thump of something heavy hitting the floor. Then silence. ‘Er . . . hello?’ she whispered nervously.

‘Get your ass out of there, Macy,’ said a familiar New York voice.

‘Nina!’ Macy cried as another hand pulled her backwards. She found the soldier slumped at her feet, Nina standing over him. ‘What did you do?’

The redhead held up the bolas. One of the rotten ropes had fallen apart when she pulled the weapon out of the muck, but its other two stone spheres were still connected. ‘I got him by the balls. Or with the balls, but same thing.’ She dropped them and picked up the unconscious man’s AK. ‘Tell Kit to come back down and keep an eye on this guy, then help that idiot Cuff.’

‘What about you?’ Macy asked as the other woman returned to the doorway.

Nina looked back at her, determined. ‘I’m going to find Eddie.’ She moved off at a run, shouting. ‘Eddie! I’ve got his gun!’

Reaching the top of the long, twisting stairs, Eddie thought at first he was trapped in a dead end, but then he found a low opening almost completely hidden behind a curtain of ivy and creepers. He pushed through the plants to find himself on a narrow street. To one side, he saw what he realised was a battlement along the top of the cliff bounding one side of the ruined city, a collapsed section revealing the foliage of trees beyond. He went the other way, heading back towards Paititi’s centre.

Before long, the street opened on to the central plaza and he stopped, looking out cautiously. The second soldier stood near the tent with his gun pointed at Valero, who was kneeling with his hands on his head. If he could approach without being seen, maybe—

The soldier’s head snapped round at a shout. Eddie heard it too. Nina! But he couldn’t make out what she was saying, echoes and his own less than perfect hearing muffling her words.

The soldier seemed to understand them, though. To Eddie’s surprise, he didn’t react by bringing up his weapon, but instead backed in concern towards the tent, AK still covering Valero.

Nina called out again, closer. This time he made it out. She had got the other soldier’s rifle. No wonder the man here was worried.

But why was he going to the tent? A different weapon wouldn’t give him an advantage . . .

He realised what was within the canvas shelter just as the soldier groped inside. He was getting a radio, calling for backup.

Eddie burst out of cover and charged at the tent. A click and a hiss of static, then the noise was cut off as the soldier, still guarding Valero, pushed the handset’s transmit button and started speaking in urgent Spanish. The word ‘Socorro!’ stood out – help!

More troops would be coming . . .

Eddie dived at the tent. The whole thing collapsed, knocking the Venezuelan down under the flapping fabric. The radio hit the stone flags with a heavy clunk.

The soldier had managed to keep hold of his AK. He fired wildly, bullets pitting the buildings at the plaza’s edge. Valero rolled for cover behind a tree. Eddie scrambled to his feet and kicked, catching the soldier’s arm and sending the AK-103 spinning across the plaza.

The Venezuelan grimaced, shaking off the camouflaged shroud. He looked for his gun, saw it was out of reach, turned back to face Eddie – and drew a knife.

Eddie took on a defensive posture, judging his opponent. The Venezuelan was bigger than him, and probably fifteen years younger. He would have faster reactions, but less experience and training – his uniform was regular army, not special forces. The Englishman’s gaze flitted between the six-inch blade and his opponent’s eyes, waiting for the first sign of the inevitable attack—

The knife thrust at his chest. Eddie twisted to avoid it, then tried to grab the soldier’s wrist, but the Venezuelan had already pulled back. Another stab, another dodge, the razor edge this time close enough to rasp against his jacket’s steel zip.

Third strike—

Eddie gripped the soldier’s arm – but the knife sliced across his chest, tearing his T-shirt. He grunted at the sharp pain, battling to keep hold as the man tried to shake him off. A sweep of his elbow, the point cracking against the soldier’s face just under his left eye socket.

The Venezuelan staggered, giving Eddie the chance to chop at his hand, trying to force him to drop the knife. Another fierce blow, the soldier’s grip loosening . . .

The man shoved Eddie backwards across the uneven stone slabs into a patch of mud. With one last strike Eddie finally knocked the knife away, but his feet slipped in the ooze. One boot lost its grip, and he fell.

He landed on his back with a thick splash, the soldier on top of him. And now it was the Venezuelan’s turn to use his elbow, driving it down with all his weight into Eddie’s stomach.

Even tensing his abdominal muscles to absorb the impact, Eddie still convulsed in sickening, breathless pain. His groan was choked off as the man clamped his hands round his throat. He tried to claw at the soldier’s eyes, but the Venezuelan pulled back out of Eddie’s reach as he squeezed harder—

The pressure abruptly eased. The soldier was no longer looking down at Eddie, but at something above. The Yorkshireman tipped his head back to see an inverted world, buildings hanging over the empty abyss of the sky . . . and an upside-down Nina pointing an AK-103 at his attacker.

A quick flick of her eyebrows told the soldier to release him. Eddie drew in a hoarse breath as his adversary nervously withdrew, and sat up. ‘You okay?’ Nina asked.

He coughed. ‘Bit of a hairball. What about the others?’

‘Macy’s fine, Cuff’ll need a trip to the orthodontist but looked okay apart from that. Kit’s watching the other guy; everyone else got up the wall.’

‘Good.’ He stood, giving the soldier a threatening glare before calling to Valero. ‘Oscar!’ He pointed to the fallen AK. ‘Get the gun – I’ll tie him up.’

Nina kept her rifle aimed at the soldier as Valero retrieved the second Kalashnikov. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘If loggers found this place, what’s the army doing here?’

‘Maybe loggers did find it,’ said Eddie, tugging a length of guy rope from the tent. ‘But they wouldn’t know how to sell the stuff they found, so they started asking around – and word got back to someone at that radar base. Quick arrest, bit of an interrogation, and now someone with stripes on their sleeve knows all about Paititi – and how much treasure’s hidden in it.’ He pulled the rope through the last eyelet and lifted the canvas - to expose a field radio lying on its side, the handset trapped beneath it. The transmit light was on. ‘Buggeration and fuckery,’ he said, lifting the radio and seeing that the handset’s key had been depressed by the unit’s weight; as soon as it was released, the channel cleared and an urgent voice crackled through the speaker. He hurriedly switched it off. ‘He managed to warn his mates – we need to get out of here.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Nina as Eddie tied up the soldier. She gestured towards the large buildings at the plaza’s western end. ‘We need to at least check the temple and the palace first. These guys have already stolen potentially millions of dollars of artefacts – we’ve got to see if there’s anything left before they strip the whole place bare.’

‘We don’t have time. If they think somebody’s found their little secret, they’ll probably be on their way here already.’

‘No, I agree with Dr Wilde,’ said Valero. ‘It took us over two hours to reach here from Valverde – it will take even longer from the military base. If we take the road south to Matuso, they will never catch up with us. And when we get to the Jeep, I can use the satellite phone to report to the Bolivarian Militia. The more I know about what is here, the more I can tell my superiors.’

Eddie didn’t like the idea of delaying their getaway, but Valero was right; it would take some time for more soldiers to reach them. ‘Okay, but be quick about it. Ten minutes, no more.’

It took over half that long just to assemble all the expedition members. Both soldiers were tied to a tree, Eddie and Kit taking their weapons after Valero recovered his pistol. With Eddie pointedly checking his watch, the group hurried up the broad steps to the Temple of the Sun.

Where something incredible awaited them.

11

‘My God!’ Nina gasped, Osterhagen echoing her words in German. Everyone stared in amazement. The chamber was roofless where the wood had long since decayed, but an overhanging tree blotted out most of the light. At the east end was a single window . . . facing the wonder opposite.

Mounted on the west wall was a metal disc, a stylised face surrounded by elaborate patterns of spirals and interlocking lines. It was some four feet in diameter, at its deepest four inches thick . . . and even covered with the dirt of ages, it was instantly obvious that it was made from solid gold.

‘The Punchaco!’ exclaimed Becker.

Even through his awe, Osterhagen shook his head. ‘No, it is too small, and there are no jewels. It must be a copy.’

‘What’s a punchaco?’ Macy asked.

‘A sun disc,’ Nina replied. ‘One of the greatest Inca treasures.’

‘The greatest,’ Osterhagen corrected her. ‘It represented the sun god Inti, and was in the Temple of the Sun at Cuzco. As well as being made of pure gold, it was decorated with thousands of precious stones. But when the Spanish arrived, even though they looted the temple of a huge amount of gold, the Punchaco was gone.’

Eddie moved further into the room. Before the golden face was a large stone slab, which he guessed was an altar – and behind it was proof that someone else knew of the sun disc’s existence. ‘The Spanish weren’t the only ones who wanted to get their hands on this thing,’ he said, holding up a length of heavy-duty chain.

Nina rounded the altar to see a trolley made of thick steel with six fat little tyres, as well as a pile of equally beefy metal struts, several of which had been fastened together to form the basis of a truss. She also recognised the pulleys of a block and tackle. ‘Looks like they were going to lift the disc off the wall and stand it on this cart.’ She went to the window. At one time it would have allowed the light of dawn to shine on the Punchaco. Though the view was now blocked by trees, she could still make out the main gate to the east – and closer, the oddly proportioned crate.

Its purpose was no longer a mystery. It was the right size to accommodate the sun disc.

‘It’s a good thing we did come in here,’ she said, with a faintly accusing look at her husband. ‘They were about to steal the sun disc. And they were probably saving it until last – it’s not something they could carry off in their pocket like the artefacts Interpol recovered. That much gold must weigh tons.’

Kit examined the sun disc. ‘It’s about one metre twenty across, and . . . ten centimetres deep. So it would weigh . . . ’

‘The volume of a cylinder is pi r squared h,’ Cuff mumbled through the handkerchief he was holding to his mouth. ‘So that’s . . . ’

‘One hundred and thirteen thousand, one hundred and forty-two cubic centimetres,’ Nina announced, performing the calculations in her head, to the surprise of Valero and Osterhagen’s team. ‘Or zero point one one three cubic metres, more or less. And I think gold is something like nineteen times denser than water, which weighs a metric ton per cubic metre, so . . . ’ Another moment of thought. ‘We’re talking over two tons of gold. The weight of an SUV.’

‘No wonder they left it till last,’ said Eddie. ‘Be a bugger to get out of here.’

‘But if this is only a copy,’ said Macy, ‘where’s the real thing?’

‘Still hidden, somewhere,’ suggested Loretta.

Nina looked towards the entrance. ‘Somewhere here, maybe?’

Osterhagen had the same idea. ‘The palace! We have to search it.’

‘Two minutes,’ warned Eddie. ‘The longer we’re here, the more chance we have of getting caught.’

‘I know, I know,’ Nina snapped, bustling the others to the door.

They hurried out and ascended another set of steps to the building on the highest tier of the jungle city. It too was open to the elements, and in a state of partial collapse where windborne seeds had taken root and grown into infinitely patient, subtly destructive trees, but more than enough of the structure remained to reveal its stark majesty. Every block had been carved with painstaking precision to fit exactly amongst its neighbours without needing mortar to secure it, and in contrast to the plain architecture elsewhere in Paititi the palace was decorated, geometric patterns carved into the stonework and sculpted heads jutting from sections of wall.

‘Split up,’ Nina ordered. Much as it pained her, she ignored the ancient adornments to search the various rooms for any unlooted treasures. Though there were a few remaining artefacts that would be valuable from a cultural perspective, nothing stood out as being so financially. The raiders had been thorough. ‘Find anything?’ she called.

‘It’d help if I knew what I was looking for,’ Eddie complained from a neighbouring room.

‘Anything obviously valuable – gold, silver, jewels. If it shows up on the black market, we can tie it back to here and give Interpol some legal ammunition.’

‘If we just take it with us, we can stop them getting hold of it,’ Macy piped up.

Nina was about to give her a refresher course on professional ethics when Eddie called out again. ‘Nina! In here.’

She knew from his tone that it was important. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s not gold or silver or jewels,’ he said as she entered the small chamber, ‘but I’m pretty sure you’ll think it’s valuable.’

Unlike the palace’s other rooms, one end of this had a roof of sorts where an alcove was set into the wall. The space was around six feet deep, slightly wider. Set into its rear was a foot-high arched recess. Something stood inside it.

She took out a flashlight. Its beam revealed that the alcove’s walls were painted; though in places split by cracks and scabbed by mould, most of the images were still discernible.

But it wasn’t the paintings that had seized her attention. Even before she brought the light on to it, she recognised the shape in the recess. And when she did, she also recognised the colour.

A strange purple stone.

‘It’s the third statue . . . ’ she whispered. Like the other two figurines cocooned in their case in her backpack, it was a crude but recognisably anthropomorphic sculpture, arms held out in such a way as to interlock with its near-twins when they were placed together.

Except . . . there was only one arm.

‘What—’ she gasped. There was less to the statue than met the eye. It stood sideways in the niche, its right side to her – but there was no left side. It had been sliced in half down its centre line. ‘No!’

‘Yeah, I thought you might not be happy about that,’ said Eddie as she plucked it from the recess and turned it over in her hands. ‘Why do you think they chopped it in two?’

‘No idea,’ she said, disappointment welling. For all the archaeological wonders of the lost settlement, the statuette had been her primary reason for coming here – but she now had no more clues to lead her to the rest of it.

Unless . . .

She switched off the flashlight. ‘Hold this for a minute,’ she told Eddie, passing the figurine to him. As the other expedition members filtered into the room, she took the other two statues from their case. No eerie light, but there was a mildly unsettling sensation through her palms, like the tingling of a very low current.

‘What are you doing?’ Osterhagen asked.

‘Seeing if maybe this isn’t the end of the line for the Incas.’ Nina slid the statues together shoulder to shoulder . . .

The others made sounds of surprise as the linked figures glowed, very faintly but just enough to stand out in the shadows. ‘Give me the other one,’ she said to Eddie. He slipped it between the pair. She used her thumbs to nudge it into position, the lone arm in place round its neighbour – and the glow subtly changed, strongest on one particular side of the triptych. ‘Eddie, you’ve got a compass, haven’t you?’

‘Yeah, of course.’

She turned the statues, the brighter glow remaining fixed as they moved. ‘What direction is it pointing?’

‘Why are they doing that?’ asked Valero, entranced.

‘They react to the earth’s magnetic field,’ said Nina, simplifying for convenience. ‘And they also point towards each other. That’s part of what led us here.’

Eddie, meanwhile, had checked his compass. ‘Southwest,’ he reported.

‘Huh. That’s why we didn’t realise it had been split into two parts – they’re both on the same bearing from Glastonbury, so we only saw one glow.’

‘Why isn’t it as bright as at Glastonbury?’ Macy asked.

‘The earth energy mustn’t be as strong here. Or maybe it was once, but the confluence point moved.’

‘Earth energy?’ demanded Osterhagen. ‘What confluence point? What is going on?’

‘It’s why the IHA’s involved, I’m afraid. But it means the other piece of the statue is somewhere southwest of here.’

‘Have to look for it later,’ said Eddie. ‘Time’s up, and we need to get the fuck out of here.’

‘Another minute, please,’ said Osterhagen, turning his attention to the alcove’s walls. He switched on a torch of his own, sweeping it across the murals. Becker and Macy followed suit, while Loretta brought out a camera and began taking photos. ‘These paintings . . . I think they are the story of how the Incas came to this place. Look.’ He indicated one section on the left-hand wall: a large building. ‘That is the Intiwasa at Cuzco, the Sun Temple – the Spanish destroyed the upper levels to build the church of Santa Domingo on it, but the base is exactly the same.’

Nina carefully put down the statues, then retrieved her light and examined the mural. Though simplistic, almost cartoony in the way everything was broken down into blocks of solid colour, there was clearly a story being told. ‘These figures outside the temple, the ones in different clothes – are they the Spaniards?’

Osterhagen nodded. ‘Pizarro’s messengers. Giving Atahualpa’s orders for his people to gather their gold and silver.’

‘And hide it from the Spanish . . .’ Nina moved her light across the walls. Opposite the representation of Cuzco was one of what she assumed was Paititi, a walled town surrounded by trees, above which was an image of the sun disc in the nearby temple – as well as a small shape that was almost certainly meant to be the half of the third statue.

Murals of other locations were spread out between the start and the end of the Inca exodus. A painted path connected them, marked along its meandering length with symbols: vertical lines broken up by dots. ‘These symbols,’ she said. ‘An account of the route they followed, maybe?’

‘I thought the Incas never developed writing?’ said Macy.

‘They didn’t,’ said Osterhagen. ‘Most of their history was oral. They had ways of storing numerical records such as censuses and taxes, though.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Tax records were of not the slightest interest to the young woman. She examined another part of the wall.

Nina was still concentrating on the markings. ‘I’ve seen this kind of thing before. My guess is that these give you distances and directions to follow. It’s a record of their journey to Paititi.’

‘And other places,’ said Macy with growing excitement, illuminating another painted scene above the recess. ‘Look at this!’

Even Eddie was impressed enough to delay yelling another, more forceful reminder of the time. ‘Thought you said El Dorado was just a myth?’

Mountain peaks rose above a city, buildings stacked seemingly on top of each other as they rose to a palace at their summit – above which was another sun disc, but more elaborate than the one above the painting of Paititi, and even its real-life counterpart in the Temple of the Sun. Both city and god-image were coloured in yellow . . . or gold. ‘Is that the Punchaco?’ Nina asked. ‘The real one?’

Osterhagen’s nose almost rubbed the faded paint. ‘Yes! Yes, it must be! Look at all the jewels – look how big it is!’ Even taking the Incas’ primitive understanding of perspective into account, it was clear the ornate disc was meant to be larger than the figures kneeling below it. ‘It must have been huge!’

Nina gently blew away dirt and cobwebs to reveal more detail. Running down one side of the city were streaks of pale blue that ended in a stippled cloud, which in turn led into a winding blue line that could only be a representation of a river. ‘A waterfall?’

‘It could be, yes . . . ’ The German gazed open-mouthed at the scene. ‘Oh! And look at these jaguars. They must be symbols of the gods, protecting the city from invaders.’ He pointed out a little vignette between the lowest tier of buildings and the river. At one side, a pair of elegantly stylised cats, yellow bodies mottled with black spots, sat and watched with aloof disdain as two figures were swept away by another waterfall; to their right, a crouching jaguar observed a man climbing a steep set of steps.

Nina was no longer looking at the painting, however. With more light on it, the niche was revealed to be not as empty as she had thought. There was something beneath the accumulated dirt behind where the figurine had stood. She brushed it experimentally with a fingertip, finding a braided cord beneath and slowly lifting it. More muck fell away as other lengths of coloured string were revealed, small knots woven into them.

Loretta took a picture. ‘It’s a khipu!’ she gasped.

‘Be careful,’ Osterhagen urged Nina. ‘They are very rare, only a few hundred in the world. The Spanish destroyed any they found.’ She carefully lowered the cords back into their resting place.

‘What’s a khipu?’ Macy asked.

Even through broken teeth, Cuff’s condescension was clear. ‘Khipus are how the Incas kept their records – the word actually means “talking knots”. They had a very advanced mathematical system using different kinds of knots in strings to store numbers. I thought everybody knew that, but apparently not.’ He laughed a little at his own pun.

Macy gave him a scathing look. ‘Bite me. Oh wait, you can’t.’

But Nina was now fixated on something else. In the heart of the palace atop the painted city was a small oval space . . . and in it was a mirror image of something she had already seen. ‘The third statue – that’s its other half,’ she said. ‘It’s in this city – wherever that is.’

‘Southwest of here?’ Osterhagen mused. ‘In mountains – that would be the Andes in northern Peru. The eastern mountains and the edges of the Amazon basin in that region were among the last conquests of the Incas before the Spanish invasion, the farthest reaches of the empire. A good hiding place.’

‘Not good enough,’ said Nina. ‘They must have thought the Conquistadors were going to find it, so they moved again, all the way through the jungle to here. Somewhere they could finally be sure it was safe.’

‘Until now,’ Eddie cut in impatiently. ‘If we don’t get moving right now, half the Venezuelan army is going to roll up and catch us.’

Osterhagen began to protest. ‘But we have to—’

‘No, we’re going. No more arguments.’ He unshouldered his AK-103 for emphasis. ‘Nina, I’ll give you a hand packing up those statues. Kit, Oscar, get everyone else back to the Jeeps – we’ll catch up.’

Kit had also readied his rifle. ‘Don’t take too long,’ he said, ushering the others out.

‘We won’t, don’t worry.’ Eddie crouched beside Nina to help return the statues to their case.

‘Another five minutes wouldn’t have killed us,’ she objected.

‘Those two arseholes tied up outside would have if they’d had the chance,’ he countered. ‘I don’t think their mates’ll be any different. Especially not with millions of dollars at stake.’

‘Oscar said we’ll be miles away before they get here.’

‘Yeah, and Oscar said he was going to order those soldiers to surrender, and look how that turned out.’ The two IHA statues were back in their foam beds. ‘What about the one you just found?’

Nina hesitated, aware of the hypocrisy of what she was about to say; she had been on the verge of castigating Macy for the same thing not ten minutes earlier. But she justified it – at least, to herself – as a case when the IHA’s global security mandate trumped normal considerations. ‘We take it,’ she said, taking out a penknife and cutting away part of the foam to make a space for the third piece. ‘I don’t know what it’s going to lead to, but I think it’s important.’ A glance back at the recess. ‘And that khipu might be too – it was with the statue, so there could be a connection. I don’t want to risk these soldiers getting it.’

‘If they wanted it, they’d have swiped it already,’ Eddie pointed out.

‘But they don’t know what we know about the statues.’ She swept the dirt from the niche, exposing the rest of the khipu. It was longer than she had first thought, folded over itself several times. ‘There should be some Ziploc bags in my backpack. Can you get one for me?’

He did so, and she gently slipped the khipu into the plastic bag, squeezing out the air before sealing it shut. ‘Okay,’ she said, placing the bag in the case and closing it, then putting the case in her pack, ‘I’m ready.’

‘About time. Come on.’

They hurried back into the open, passing the temple and descending the steps into the plaza. The soldiers were still tied to the tree, the other expedition members heading for the main gate.

Not as quickly as Eddie wanted. ‘What is this, a fucking afternoon stroll?’ he growled. ‘Oi! You lot! Shift your arses!’

His shout spurred them on, but not by much; Nina and Eddie caught up while they were still short of the gate. ‘Some of us are injured, you know,’ Cuff whined.

‘You don’t run on your lips, do you?’ said Eddie, devoid of sympathy. ‘Oscar, how’re you managing?’

The Venezuelan’s face was tight with ill-concealed pain; unlike the American, he had suffered blows that were affecting his movement, his torso badly bruised by the soldiers’ kicks. ‘I’m okay,’ he grunted. ‘When we—’ He broke off, looking round at a noise.

Eddie heard it too – or more accurately felt it, a subsonic thumping inside his chest cavity.

He instantly knew what it was. ‘Shit! It’s a chopper!’

The pounding grew louder, rising to a clattering whump of rotors as a helicopter swept overhead. Eddie glimpsed it through the jungle canopy: a Russian-built Mil Mi-17.

With the yellow, blue and red stripes of the Venezuelan flag standing out from the muted green camouflage paint on its tail boom. A military aircraft.

The soldiers’ backup had arrived.

12

‘Get through the gate!’ Eddie yelled. The group was still short of Paititi’s thick outer walls. As everyone ran, he glared at Nina. ‘This is why we had to go five minutes ago!’

‘Don’t you try to put this on me!’ she shouted back. ‘You said they were coming by road, not helicopter!’

‘Well, I’m not a fucking oracle, am I?’ They reached the gate, the narrow opening forcing them into single file to pass through.

The helicopter slowed, preparing to hover. The tree cover was far too dense for it to land, even inside the settlement. ‘It’s going to drop troops,’ Eddie warned as everyone scrambled across the remains of a defensive trench. ‘They’ll be able to shoot you from about two hundred metres away through this much jungle, so keep as many trees behind you as you can. Oscar, get everyone to the Jeeps. Kit, you and me are going to cover the rear.’

‘I don’t think I like the sound of that,’ the Indian said unhappily.

Nina wasn’t keen either. ‘What are you doing?’

Eddie pointed back towards the lost town. ‘In about thirty seconds, they’ll have boots on the ground – and another thirty seconds after that, the guys we tied up’ll have told them we just did a runner out of the gate. We need to slow ’em down long enough for you to get to the trucks.’

‘We’re not going to leave you!’ she protested.

‘It’s a tactical withdrawal, not a last stand. We’ll be there, you can bloody believe it!’ She was still hesitant, so he gave her a reassuring smile. ‘We’ll be fine. Go on, see you soon.’

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said with a faint smile of her own, before going after the others.

Eddie watched her retreat, then turned to Kit. ‘You ready?’

‘No, but that never seems to matter, does it?’ A grim grin from the Interpol officer. ‘What do we do?’

‘Keep your gun on the gate. Soon as anyone comes out of it, fire a couple of rounds. We’re trying to buy time, so we need to keep ’em bottled up for as long as we can.’

‘Are we shooting to kill?’

‘They will be.’ The Mil tipped out of its hover, swinging round to circle the area. ‘Okay, they’re down,’ said Eddie. ‘Soon as the shooting starts, we’ll do a running retreat. You back up by twenty, thirty metres, get behind a tree and cover me while I move, then I do the same for you.’

‘Okay.’ They hunched behind an earth mound, about sixty metres from the gate. The team had been extremely unlucky, Eddie thought; the chopper must have been visiting the radar base for it to have responded to the soldier’s SOS so quickly. It also still posed a threat – it was a transport, not a gunship, but it could follow the fleeing 4×4s and report their position.

There were more pressing worries, though. He sighted the AK on the gate. How long before the soldiers reached it?

He got an answer a few seconds later. A man cautiously looked out—

Eddie fired two rapid shots. The first went slightly wide, cracking off the stonework. The Englishman immediately adjusted his aim, but the soldier had already pulled back.

‘Move,’ he told Kit, who started his retreat. Eddie kept his gun fixed on the gate. The man reappeared, unleashing a three-round burst from his AK. Bullets smacked into the mound in front of Eddie. He ducked, then returned fire – but that had been all the time another two soldiers needed to rush past their comrade and dive headlong into the trench.

The soldier at the gate fired again, the rounds whipping over Eddie’s head. He crawled back and waved for Kit to shoot. It was going to be a tough escape.

But not impossible.

Kit fired a couple of rounds, and Eddie quickly scuttled backwards. He passed the Indian, and kept moving until he reached shelter behind the vine-throttled trunk of a large hardwood tree. Nobody was in clear sight, but the jolting of a small bush told him that one man was crawling along the trench. The other was probably doing the same in the other direction. They were spreading out, making it harder for himself and Kit to cover them all.

They weren’t advancing, though. For now, that was what mattered: it would buy Nina and the others the time they needed to reach the trucks.

‘Kit!’ he called. The Interpol officer dropped low and backed up to pass him. He readied his weapon—

Two more soldiers rushed out of the gate. Eddie fired again. Somebody yelled, but more in surprise than pain – a very narrow miss, perhaps even a grazing impact. A good scare would make him more reluctant to put his head up.

But there were still at least four other men to deal with. He released another round to encourage them to stay down – then jerked into cover himself as a soldier in the trench opened fire on full auto. Chunks of shredded wood exploded from the trunk.

Kit was in position behind another tree. Eddie fired a single shot, then ducked and hurried to overtake him. The Indian unleashed more bullets, hitting nothing but soil and wood, then moved back as Eddie took up the cover fire.

The man at the gate reappeared. Eddie aimed at him – then snapped his gun round as he saw a soldier rise and rush out of the trench. Two pulls of the trigger, and the man tumbled into the dirt, shrieking in Spanish.

If the soldiers were professionals, some would break off to help the wounded man . . .

Money was their motivation. The screams continued as the gunfire intensified, the angry Venezuelans advancing. Eddie fired again as another man ran for a tree, but a spray of bullets from two others chewed into his cover and forced him back behind it.

But he and Kit had done their job. The others would be almost at the Jeeps by now. He registered that the helicopter was still circling somewhere behind him, but ignored it. Time to go.

‘Give me cover, then run!’ he called to Kit, who fired again. Eddie bent low and scurried from the tree – then, when he was level with his friend, broke into a sprint. Kit fired a last burst before following. AKs chattered behind them as they ran.

Valero’s injuries were slowing him, the Venezuelan clutching his ribs as his run became a faltering plod. Nina moved alongside him. ‘Leonard, help me carry him!’

‘No, keep going,’ Valero wheezed as Osterhagen hurried over. ‘We’re almost there – go on!’

Nina took his weight on one side, the German supporting him on the other. ‘No, we stick together,’ she insisted.

Another expedition member didn’t share that view. Cuff broke from the group and raced up the earthen bank ahead. ‘Day, wait!’ cried Loretta.

‘If he takes one of the trucks on his own,’ Nina growled, ‘he’ll need more than a dentist when I’m done with him.’

‘I’ll help,’ Macy added.

‘He wouldn’t do that,’ Osterhagen assured her. ‘I think . . . ’

Macy ran to catch Cuff as they brought Valero up the slope. At the top, Nina spotted a flash of red through the greenery – one of the Land Cruisers. Osterhagen saw it too, and they guided the winded man towards it.

Cuff reached the nearest 4×4, yanking open the driver’s door. Nina expected him to jump in, but instead he stood unmoving. ‘Start it up!’ Macy yelled to him as she reached the vehicle. ‘Come on, get—’

She too froze, suddenly silent.

Nina realised that something was horribly wrong, but it was too late to do anything about it – they were only a couple of dozen yards from the trucks with nowhere to run, nowhere to take cover.

Macy looked back, frightened. Nina now knew why.

Someone was in the Land Cruiser. But how—

The helicopter. She hadn’t paid it any attention, distracted by the gunfire. Now, though, she knew what it had been doing. The only way to leave Paititi was along the logging track, and it had dropped more troops ahead to catch them in a pincer.

Figures emerged from behind trees and bushes, weapons aimed at the archaeologists and their guide. Loretta screamed. One soldier pointed at Valero, then gestured towards the ground. With a faint moan of defeat, Valero dropped his gun.

The man in the Land Cruiser emerged, Cuff stepping back in fear. Tall, late forties, tending towards the spread of middle age but still intimidatingly powerful. An officer, his crisp and clean uniform contrasting with the sweaty fatigues of his men. He regarded Nina and her companions coldly from behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. ‘Who are you,’ he said in thickly accented English, ‘and what are you doing in my ruins?’

Eddie and Kit weaved through the jungle, plants whipping at their faces. ‘Over there!’ Eddie said, seeing footprints heading up the bank. He followed them. ‘Just up this, and we’re—’

Figures standing around the 4×4s.

Too many figures.

Instinct kicked in and he dropped flat, dragging Kit with him as more rifles fired. Bullets ripped into the ground just above them.

The gunfire stopped. Gesturing for Kit to stay still, Eddie crawled sidelong until he was below a plant’s dangling fronds. Very cautiously, he raised his head and peered through the leaves.

The other team members were lined up on their knees before the Land Cruisers, hands behind their heads. Nina was at the centre, between Macy and Cuff. None appeared to have been harmed.

Yet.

A man wearing a tan beret was partially visible behind the nearer 4×4, but Eddie fixed his attention on the person in charge: a Venezuelan officer in sunglasses standing behind the prisoners, one hand on his holstered automatic. ‘Throw your guns over the top and raise your hands above your heads!’ he shouted.

‘What do we do?’ Kit whispered.

They were outnumbered, only limited ammo remaining, and, with the prisoners held at gunpoint and more soldiers closing from behind, the chances of taking down the Venezuelans without suffering multiple losses were almost zero. ‘We’ll have to give up,’ Eddie reluctantly told him. Kit looked shocked. ‘Yeah, it’s a pisser, I know. But if we don’t—’

The officer shouted again. ‘If you do not surrender by the time I count to three, I will kill one of your friends!’ Eddie looked through the leaves again, his blood chilling when he saw that the man had drawn his gun and moved behind Nina. He started to count, with almost no pause between the numbers. ‘One, two—’

‘No!’ Eddie yelled, flinging his AK over the rise and jumping up with his hands held high. Kit did the same.

The cold gaze behind the sunglasses regarded them for a moment. Nobody moved. Then—

‘Three.’

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the back of Cuff’s skull from point-blank range. It shattered into fragments as it punched through bone, red-hot metal chunks liquefying brain tissue. One of the pieces exploded from his right eye socket at the head of a terrible gout of grey and red. Cuff slumped lifelessly in his own blood.

Nina had been almost deafened by the gunshot barely two feet from her head. The ringing in her ears gradually faded, only to be replaced by another sound. Screaming. Loretta was wailing hysterically at the sight of Cuff’s body. The other prisoners were also in shock.

The officer gestured to two of his men. Weapons locked on Eddie and Kit, they recovered the discarded AK-103s, then brought the explorers to their commander. The three golden stars of his insignia told the former SAS man that he was a major general – one of the highest Venezuelan military ranks. He removed his sunglasses, revealing dark, narrow eyes, blinking as infrequently as a lizard’s. ‘Are there any more of you?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Eddie replied.

‘If you are lying, I will kill you all. Starting with her.’ He pointed his pistol at Nina. She looked fearfully at her husband.

‘This is all of us. I’m not lying,’ said Eddie.

The officer stared at him for several seconds before finally turning away, appearing satisfied. His gaze moved on to Loretta, who was still crying. ‘Rojas,’ he said to a man nearby, a sergeant. ‘That noise. Silence it.’

Rojas stepped up to Loretta and with a swift, savage move smashed a fist across her face, knocking her to the ground. ‘You fucker!’ Eddie cried, lunging at him, only to have two Kalashnikov muzzles stabbed hard into his chest, then the stock of a third rifle slammed against the back of his head. He dropped to his knees in pain.

The man standing behind the Land Cruiser spoke. ‘Always did try to play the white knight for the ladies, didn’t you . . . Chase?’

Eddie looked up in shock. He knew that voice. The speaker strode out and stood before him, a smug smile on his chiselled face.

It was Alexander Stikes.

13

‘You know this guy?’ Nina asked, shocked. ‘Unfortunately, yeah,’ said Eddie. ‘He’s a complete fucking bell-end called Stikes.’

‘Alexander Stikes,’ said the man in question, introducing himself to Nina with mock civility. ‘Formerly of the SAS. I had the dubious privilege of commanding Corporal Chase here.’

Eddie gave him a cutting half-smile. ‘Until I got him kicked out.’

Stikes sneered. ‘Don’t award yourself credit where it’s not due. My transfer back to my old regiment had nothing to do with that pathetic inquiry McCrimmon organised.’

‘Still stopped you getting promoted, didn’t it? Nothing like murdering civilians to fuck up your career prospects.’

‘I don’t know, striking a superior officer did for yours. Admittedly, a simple demotion wasn’t nearly punishment enough, but again, your being McCrimmon’s trained poodle helped you.’ He slowly circled Eddie. ‘You’ve put on weight, Chase. Two marriages have made you lazy. So how is your ex?’

‘Dead as you’ll be when I’m done with you. Been stalking me on Facebook, have you?’

‘Just keeping tabs on an adversary. But I must admit, it was quite a surprise to hear that coarse northern drawl again when they replayed the SOS at the base. Still, you never could keep your mouth shut.’

The Venezuelan general waved an impatient hand. ‘Enough. You know this man, yes, but we need to know who the others are, how much they know about the lost city – and who they have told.’

Stikes ran his hand down the side of Nina’s face. She flinched away, Eddie giving him a deadly look. ‘Well, since I know Chase, I also know who she is. We have a celebrity in our midst, Salbatore – this is Nina Wilde.’

The general’s eyebrows twitched as he recognised the name. ‘The one who found Atlantis?’

‘The very same. And it appears she’s not resting on her laurels. Unfortunately for her, you found this place first.’ He stepped back. ‘Search them.’

Three soldiers moved along the line, roughly relieving the prisoners of their possessions and tossing them to the ground. Stikes began to examine the passports and wallets.

‘You’ve got me at a disadvantage,’ Nina said to the general, trying to maintain a façade of calmness. ‘You know my name, so who are you?’

‘I know who he is,’ said Valero quietly. There was a note almost of betrayal in his voice. ‘General Callas.’ He looked the officer in the eye. ‘You are supposed to be President Suarez’s closest ally – his closest friend! Why have you not told him about this place?’

Callas’s lips tightened at the mention of Suarez, but he didn’t answer, instead turning back to Nina. ‘I am General Salbatore Delgado Callas,’ he announced. ‘I would offer you my hand, but I do not think you will take it.’

‘I think you’re right,’ she replied. He seemed amused by her defiance.

Stikes held up Nina’s wallet. ‘Well, look what I’ve found!’ he said with exaggerated cheer, thumbing out a business card. She recognised it as the one Larry Chase had given to her. He grinned malevolently at Eddie. ‘So, how are your daddy issues these days, Chase? Still mad at him for fucking other women behind Mummy’s back?’

Eddie said nothing, but his jaw muscles clenched. Stikes chuckled, pleased at having touched a nerve, then opened the metal case from Nina’s backpack. The three statuettes were revealed within.

Callas crouched to look more closely, tapping the half-figure. ‘This was in the ruins,’ he said, puzzled. ‘But the other two . . . ’

‘You didn’t take it?’ Stikes asked.

‘It wasn’t gold or silver, just stone. Broken stone! It is worthless.’

‘Apparently not,’ said Stikes, shooting Nina a calculating look. He gave the bagged khipu a similarly intrigued appraisal, then carried on with his check of the team’s belongings. Kit’s was the last; after reading his identity card, he regarded the Indian with surprise. ‘Interpol? Inter-esting.’ A small smile to match the joke. ‘Now, why would the head of the Cultural Property Crime Unit be personally poking around in the jungle?’

‘Interpol?’ Callas said in alarm. He pointed his gun at Kit. ‘Who have you told about this place?’

‘Everyone,’ said Eddie.

‘Nobody,’ Stikes said simultaneously. ‘If they’d told anyone, Suarez would have ordered your arrest by now.’

‘Then we must make sure they never do tell anyone.’ Callas stepped back, nodding to Rojas. Loretta started to cry again, trembling. The soldiers readied their weapons.

Stikes raised a hand, as if about to object – but Eddie spoke first. ‘Kill us and you’ll never find the real treasure – in El Dorado.’

‘Eddie!’ Nina protested.

Callas laughed. ‘This is El Dorado. The lost city of gold!’

‘If you were an archaeologist, you’d know it’s not. This place is called Paititi. Didn’t pay attention to anything but the gold, did you?’

Eddie’s eyes were fixed on Callas; meanwhile, Stikes scrutinised Eddie’s expression. ‘You know, Salbatore . . . he may be telling the truth.’

‘What?’ Callas demanded.

‘Chase here is very protective of the so-called innocent, so he’ll say whatever it takes to save them . . . but he’s not a natural liar. Blunt, simple-minded honesty is one of his defining characteristics.’ He looked towards the ruins. ‘It’s possible they have found something else – especially considering his wife’s talent for discovering lost civilisations.’

Callas stood before Nina, gun still in his hand. ‘Then we only need to keep one archaeologist alive, don’t we?’

She glared at him. ‘Hurt anyone else and I’ll never tell you anything.’

His lips spread into a lupine smile. ‘Oh, you will. I promise you.’

A noise came from the jungle, the whine of a straining engine. A military truck lumbered into view, jolting along the rutted logging track. Eddie tensed, ready to take advantage of the distraction, but the jab of an AK’s muzzle into his back told him that his guards were expecting it.

The driver seemed surprised to see them, however; the truck had apparently set out before the SOS was received. It stopped in the clearing. The general shouted an order, and Cuff’s corpse was tossed like garbage into the vehicle’s open back.

Callas turned back to Nina. ‘I have a use for your friends after all.’ He clicked his fingers. His troops straightened, ready for action. ‘Bring them to the city.’

The use Callas had in mind was purely physical: slave labour, to help move his biggest prize. The prisoners were held at gunpoint in the plaza while men went into the Temple of the Sun to complete the assembly of the block and tackle before the two-ton golden disc was prised from the wall with jacks and slowly, carefully, lowered to stand on its edge between supports on the specially built cart.

Once it was done, the explorers were forced to help move the trolley and its weighty cargo to the top of the steps. Other soldiers assembled a makeshift ramp from stout planks so that it could be lowered to the plaza, where the overhanging jungle canopy was thin enough for it to be airlifted out without risking damage. Callas stood nearby, watching the disc’s slow progress from behind his sunglasses.

Stikes, meanwhile, disappeared into the palace. When he returned, Loretta’s camera in hand, his expression was more calculating than ever. ‘I think Chase really was telling the truth,’ he told Callas. ‘There’s a painting on the wall, an account of what I assume is the Incas fleeing the Spanish – I’m hardly an expert on Inca history. But,’ he added, gesturing at Nina, ‘I know someone who is.’

‘She can tell us how to find El Dorado?’ Callas asked.

‘I’m sure she can, yes. Given the right kind of encouragement.’

Callas nodded. ‘She will have it. But after the operation. That must come first.’

‘Well, of course. That’s why I’m here, after all.’

‘Why are you here, Stikes?’ Eddie demanded as he strained with the others to push the cart to the ramp. ‘You’ve got your knock-off SAS beret on, so I’m guessing you’re pretending to be a soldier.’

‘Actually, I’m in the same line of work as you used to be, from what I heard on the grapevine. A private military contractor.’

‘You’re a mercenary?’ said Nina disapprovingly.

‘Aren’t we all, ultimately? We provide our skills to those who need them, in return for money. Mine happen to be in the field of conflict resolution. 3S – that’s my company’s name, for Stikes Security Solutions—’

‘Not Stupid Southern Shitehawk?’ Eddie cut in.

Stikes kicked him hard, dropping him to his knees. The guards quickly moved in, AKs raised to deter Eddie from retaliating as he painfully stood back up. ‘As I was saying,’ Stikes continued, as if nothing had happened, ‘my company has been rather successful, what with all the opportunities in Afghanistan and Iraq. But things are tailing off now, so it’s time to look for new markets.’ A nod to Callas. ‘And new clients.’

‘There are no conflicts inside Venezuela,’ said Valero. ‘Only the fight against imperialist aggression.’

Callas laughed sarcastically. ‘The voice of the new convert! What were you before you put on that joke of a uniform? A farmhand? A dog from the barrios? You have no idea what is really going on in this country.’

‘He’s right, though,’ said Stikes. ‘There certainly won’t be any conflicts in Venezuela – once we’re finished.’

Another laugh from the general. ‘That is true.’

‘Finished what?’ Eddie asked.

But no answer was forthcoming, Callas instead walking to the steps in response to a call from below. The ramp was complete. The general issued more orders, and chains were attached to the cart and looped round thick stone pillars at the top of the stairs so the workforce could lower the sun disc slowly to the plaza. It was made very clear to the unwilling members of the group that if the cart broke free and its cargo was damaged, they would all be shot.

After ten minutes of straining, sixteen people struggling to hold the great weight of the Inca treasure on the incline, the sun disc was safely off the foot of the ramp. Arms aching, Eddie nevertheless kept a close watch on Stikes and Callas. Once the golden artefact had been wheeled to the clearing and crated up ready to be lifted by helicopter, the only expedition member they needed to keep alive was Nina. Any opportunity to escape, however slim, would have to be taken.

But even with the majority of the soldiers helping move the sun disc, there were still four guards with AKs, and both Callas and Stikes were armed; the mercenary carried a gleaming nickel-plated Jericho 941 automatic, an Israeli weapon styled to resemble its larger and more famous Desert Eagle cousin, in a hip holster. And the crate was not far away; it would take just a few minutes to reach.

Not much time. There had to be some way they could break loose.

Maybe there was.

The mud near the tent, still churned up from where Eddie had fought the soldier. The cart would be pushed right past it . . .

‘Move!’ barked Callas, pointing across the plaza.

Everyone resumed their positions: Kit, Osterhagen, Becker and Loretta holding the chains to pull the sun disc, Eddie, Nina and Macy pushing the cart, both groups joined by soldiers. The cart’s fat tyres squeaked, bulging under the great weight as it rolled inch by inch across the uneven stone flags.

It drew closer to the patch of sludge. Eddie whispered to Nina, ‘I’m going to try something in a minute. If it works, run.’

‘What about the others?’

He couldn’t speak any louder without risking being overheard. ‘Just hope they’re quick on the uptake. This mud, coming up – get ready.’

The group pulling the chains were already angling to avoid the obstacle. Eddie checked the mud as the trolley skirted it.

The knife he had knocked from the soldier’s hand was still where it had fallen, almost submerged in the thick brown ooze.

He shifted position, moving his feet further from the trolley. Only another couple of steps now. A sidelong glance at the nearest guard. If he saw what he was doing . . .

Last step—

He planted his right foot into the mud – and felt the knife under his sole.

Now!

Eddie pretended to slip, his other foot slithering in the mud. He brought his right sharply forward to regain his balance, dragging the knife with it.

The guard would see if he tried to pick up the blade. Instead, he shoved it forward again and pressed the edge of his boot down hard on the hilt, forcing the blade upwards—

Into one of the tyres.

The point stabbed through the rubber as the cart rolled over it. The tyre exploded with a bang as loud as a gunshot, the sudden extra strain on the two neighbouring wheels causing them to compress.

Top-heavy, unbalanced, the cart tipped over.

Eddie and Nina jumped back—

One of the soldiers tripped, landing beside the cart. His panicked scream was abruptly cut off as the sun disc fell on top of him, two tons of dense metal flattening him with a splatter of blood and mud.

‘Run!’ Eddie yelled. He punched out a guard and broke into a sprint for the nearest alley.

Nina started to run after him, but another soldier blocked her way. She tried to swerve past – only to slip in the mud, knocking them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Macy fared even less well. She had instinctively leapt back as the sun disc fell, colliding with the soldier behind. Before she could twist away, he tackled her.

Of the other team members, both Osterhagen and Loretta were too surprised to think of fleeing, turning in startled confusion. Kit, sandwiched between two soldiers, got just a couple of feet before he was grabbed. Only Becker managed to break away, barging another soldier out of his path and running for the main gate—

Callas bellowed in Spanish: ‘Stop him!’ The guards hurriedly brought up their weapons and tracked the gangling German. He weaved desperately as the shots closed in.

One tore a thumb-sized chunk of flesh from his thigh. He fell.

Stikes was hunting another target, snapping the Jericho from his holster and whirling to track Eddie as he ran. He fired – but his target had already ducked behind a tree, the 9mm round smacking into the trunk. Stikes cursed and moved to get a better firing angle.

Too late. Eddie disappeared between two buildings, a second bullet hitting only his shadow. Stikes hissed in frustration and ran after him.

Eddie realised he was heading back towards where he had emerged from the pit. That gave him the advantage, however small, of knowing the terrain. Was there anywhere he could stage an ambush?

Yes. If he could reach it before being shot in the back.

He swatted branches aside, following his footprints in the dirt. He could hear Stikes pounding after him, boots thudding rhythmically down the narrow alleyway. Gaining. The taller, leaner officer had always been faster, and while both men had stayed fit after leaving the SAS, Eddie had spent the better part of five years in an office. Another bullet cracked against the wall behind him, the Jericho’s bark echoing through the ancient city. From somewhere deep inside he dredged up an extra burst of speed, swinging round the next corner—

The collapsed section of battlement was ahead – but Eddie was only interested in the vines and ivy hanging from the wall a few yards away, the entrance to the lower level all but invisible behind them.

He dived through, rolling and taking up position at the squat opening. His passage had ripped away some of the creepers – if Stikes spotted the gap and guessed his plan, a few bullets fired through the green curtain would end it instantly.

Footsteps. Stikes had reached the corner. They got closer.

Slowed.

Eddie peered through the leaves. Stikes drew nearer, moving at a cautious walking pace. Eddie tensed, waiting for the best moment to attack – or run. Had Stikes seen the archway, or. . .

The mercenary went past. He hadn’t spotted the entrance, instead heading for the doorway of a nearby ruined building. But it would only take him a second to see that there was nobody inside—

Eddie burst out through the vines.

Stikes spun at the crackle of branches – and Eddie slammed him against a wall. He fired, muzzle flame scorching the sleeve of Eddie’s leather jacket. Eddie responded by grabbing his wrist and smashing it against the edge of a stone block. Stikes barely held in a grunt of pain as the gun was jolted from his grasp. Eddie shoulder-barged him against the wall, then reached for the fallen Jericho—

Stikes whipped up one knee, catching him in the side and making him stumble. He twisted away from Eddie, then lunged, trying to catch him in a headlock.

Eddie lashed out with a foot, catching his kneecap. Stikes grunted again, reeling – then let out a full-blown groan as Eddie drove a solid punch into his stomach. The Yorkshireman pressed home the attack, delivering another blow to his midsection before landing an uppercut on his jaw. Stikes fell against the wall, blood round his mouth. ‘Always knew you were just a fucking Rupert!’ Eddie snarled: army slang for a useless upperclass officer. He pulled back his fist for a knockout blow. ‘Can’t win in a proper fight—’

Two of Callas’s men ran round the corner, raising their AK-103s—

Eddie hauled Stikes away from the wall and shoved him back at the two soldiers. In the confines of the alley they couldn’t fire without hitting him, giving Eddie the chance to sprint in the other direction.

Stikes shook off his dizziness. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he shouted in Spanish, moving aside to give them a clear shot. ‘Shoot him!’

They opened fire – just as Eddie reached the collapsed wall and made a running jump into the jungle beyond.

He was over forty feet above the ground, nothing to stop his fall except the branches of a nearby tree. Leaves smacked at his face as he arced through the foliage, arms thrown wide . . .

He hit the damp wood hard, a bough thumping against his chest. Winded, he grabbed it. There was a sudden explosion of movement around him – dozens of small, brightly coloured birds in the tree took to the air in alarm, shrilling and chittering. The branch bounced as if trying to shake him off, but he kept his hold.

He looked for a way to the ground – but the tree chose one for him. The branch snapped. Eddie dropped – and was caught in a knot of creepers, swinging at the trunk.

He braced himself—

Smaller branches absorbed some of the impact, but they also ripped through his clothes, cutting him in several places. He jerked his head sideways just in time to avoid being blinded by one stub, the wood slashing a line across his cheek.

Crackles from above. The creepers were tearing apart. He tried to find a secure handhold, but the branches he clutched all broke under his weight.

He fell again – and hit a twist in the crooked trunk, bouncing off and landing in the overgrown marsh with a thick splash. Despite the pain, he crawled back towards the tree, pushing through the undergrowth.

Above, the two soldiers reached the broken wall and looked into the jungle. Birds whirled madly through the branches, leaves dropping like green snowflakes from the still shaking tree. No sign of the escaped prisoner.

Stikes pushed them aside. ‘Give me that!’ he barked, snatching the AK from one of the men. He aimed it into the tree, seeing no sign of his former subordinate, then down at the ground.

Movement in the bushes—

Stikes opened fire as Eddie scrambled for cover. Bullets thunked into the tree, bark and splinters spitting from each impact. But his target was now hunched against the other side of the trunk, shielded by over two feet of wood. Stikes fired the last rounds in the magazine, then irritably thrust the AK into its owner’s hands. ‘Get back to Callas.’

The other soldier still had his weapon fixed on the tree. ‘We can climb down and get him.’

‘No,’ Stikes said. ‘We need to get the sun disc out of here. Come on.’ He headed back down the alley, retrieving his Jericho. The soldiers followed.

Eddie sat breathlessly behind the tree, wondering if his pursuers had their weapons trained on his hiding place, waiting for him to emerge. After a minute, he risked a peek. Nobody above. They had gone.

Aching, he stood, trying to work out the quickest way to get back into the ruins. Scaling the cliff was out; from here, he would have to go almost halfway round the entire perimeter. He limped away, hearing the rumble of the helicopter drawing closer to the lost city.

‘Did you kill him?’ Callas called as Stikes and the soldiers returned to the plaza.

‘No. He got away,’ the Englishman replied.

‘You let him escape?’

‘He won’t go far, not as long as we have them.’ Stikes gestured at the prisoners, who apart from the wounded Becker had been forced back to work. ‘He’ll try to rescue them. I’d advise that we leave before then.’

A faintly dismissive sneer crossed Callas’s lips. ‘You’re afraid of him?’

‘Not in the slightest,’ Stikes snapped, wiping the blood from his mouth. ‘But if we leave him behind, there are only two towns he can reach from here – and you can have men waiting for him at both.’ He regarded the blood-spattered sun disc, which had been lifted back upright on the cart. ‘How long before the chopper can pick it up?’

‘A few minutes.’

‘Good. Send two men to guard the trucks – he might try to hijack or sabotage them. The rest, tell them to help load the sun disc as quickly as they can. The moment it leaves the ground, we’ll evacuate.’

The Venezuelan stiffened slightly at being given orders by his employee, but nevertheless called out instructions. Two of his men ran for the main gate, the others doing what they could to speed the golden disc’s laborious progress. Before long, it reached the waiting crate; a few more minutes of straining, and it was safely in the container. By now, the Mil was hovering directly over the clearing, lowering cables. Soldiers attached the steel lines to the crate as the others forced the prisoners back at gunpoint. Another minute, and a man signalled to Callas that it was ready.

‘Take it up!’ the general shouted impatiently, waving to the helicopter.

The Mi-17 increased power to full, engines screaming as they took the extra load. The crate lurched from the ground. For a moment it seemed as though it would get no higher, swaying pendulously a few inches above the flagstones; then it slowly began to rise.

Callas watched in satisfaction as the helicopter lifted its precious cargo higher. The crate cleared the trees, then the Mil turned lethargically northwest, heading for the military base. Aircraft and cargo disappeared from view behind the jungle canopy.

It was now Stikes’s turn to be impatient. ‘Time to go,’ he said. His gaze fell on the prisoners. ‘What about them?’

‘We take them with us,’ said Callas. ‘I don’t want anyone to know we were here.’

‘All the bullet holes you’ve left in the place might give it away,’ Nina said scathingly. ‘And all the gear you’ve left behind - as well as Flat Stanley there.’ She nodded towards the gory spot where the luckless soldier had been squashed beneath the sun disc.

‘I will send more men to collect them later,’ the general replied as he started for the gate, signalling his men to bring the explorers. Becker was half carried, half dragged by two soldiers. ‘And a bullet hole is a bullet hole. Anyone could have made them at any time. But the bodies of archaeologists known to be in the country on a particular date . . . that would be harder to explain if they were found here.’ A sadistic hardness entered his voice. ‘But where you are going, you will never be found.’

Despite her outward defiance, a chill of fear ran through Nina’s soul.

Eddie climbed back up the outer wall where he had first entered the city, warily surveying the buildings below before scrambling down the ruined stairway and heading for the plaza. He was on full alert, certain that Callas’s men would be searching for him - which made the absence of any guards all the more disconcerting as he crept through the alleys.

He peered over a wall at the plaza. Nobody was there. The soldiers, Callas and Stikes were gone. So were Nina and the other expedition members.

And the sun disc.

Callas had what he came for – the golden god-image had been taken away by the helicopter. He vaulted the wall and hurried across the plaza. Tracks in the dirt led to the main gate - and the smaller prints of women’s boots amongst them showed that Nina, Macy and Loretta were still alive. Callas presumably had some reason for not wanting their bodies to be found at Paititi, but Eddie was certain that he still intended to kill them. He would be taking them somewhere he could be sure they wouldn’t be found. Where?

The military base. A restricted area in the depths of the jungle, what few visitors it might get deterred by barbed wire and bullets. Once Nina and the others entered, they would never leave.

He ran for the gate. As he cleared the ancient walls, he heard something over the noise of birds and insects: a low grumble. Engines.

Receding. The trucks were already heading away down the logging track.

‘Shit!’ He stopped, forcing back his anger, trying to think. There was only one road, and it took a long and circuitous route back to Valverde and the spur leading to the base. It would take a couple of hours for Callas’s convoy to get there. The base itself was about five miles to the northwest . . .

Eddie already knew there was only one course of action he could take.

He raised his wrist, turning in place until the hour hand of his watch pointed at the sun. South, he knew from his military training, was exactly halfway between the hour hand and the twelve o’clock position on the watch face. With that established, it only took a moment to work out which way was northwest. One last look after the vehicles carrying his wife and friends, then he set off at a run into the trees.

14

The bumpy drive from the ruins took two hours, Nina and the others sweating in the back of the troop truck. Ahead and behind it were the Land Cruisers. Kit and Valero looked after Becker, while Macy tried, with limited success, to comfort the weeping, terrified Loretta. Nina’s fleeting thoughts of leaping over the tailgate to escape into the jungle were tempered by the AK-103s pointed at her companions – and the presence of Cuff’s body. Loretta’s hysteria at the sight had forced the soldiers to cover it, but the huddled shape was a constant reminder of Callas’s ruthlessness.

She knew he would display that trait again soon enough. The general’s greed had convinced him to keep her alive – for the moment – in the hope she could lead him to even greater riches . . . but he had no cause to spare the others. They had witnessed his plundering of Paititi, something he wanted to keep secret even after successfully completing his ‘operation’.

They would have to be silenced.

The little convoy turned off the road to Valverde on to a narrower, even rougher track. A warning sign read Prohibida La Entrada: Zona Militar. Callas’s domain, a private kingdom. Here, he could do whatever he wanted to his prisoners, and nobody would ever know.

The truck slowed. Nina looked ahead, seeing a chain-link fence topped with coils of razor wire stretching into the vine-draped trees to each side. A soldier opened a gate to let the vehicles through. They rumbled on for a short way before emerging in a large rectangular space bulldozed out of the jungle.

The military base.

The Mi-17 was parked on a concrete helipad, being refuelled. The crate containing the Inca treasure rested beside it. At the facility’s heart was a giant rectangular radar antenna, aimed towards the Colombian border. The rest of the base was less imposing: an assortment of prefabricated control and administration huts, and tents for the troops luckless enough to be stationed in the sweltering green hell.

The lead Land Cruiser stopped beside the helipad, Callas getting out to check the crate. The other two vehicles pulled up behind it. Stikes emerged from the second Toyota and strolled to the truck. ‘Everyone comfortable in there?’ he asked mockingly.

‘For God’s sake,’ said Nina, indicating Becker’s injured leg, ‘he needs a doctor.’

‘At least give him something for the pain,’ Kit added.

‘He’ll get something for the pain soon enough, don’t worry.’ Stikes looked away at a distant noise. ‘Ah! Excellent timing. My new toy has arrived.’

Nina followed his gaze. Off to the southwest was the dot of an approaching helicopter – two helicopters, she realised, picking out a smaller one flying alongside.

Callas joined Stikes by the truck. ‘I wasn’t actually sure this friend of yours could live up to his promises,’ Stikes said to him. ‘For once, I’m pleased to be wrong.’

The Venezuelan spat. ‘Pachac is no friend of mine. Maoist scum! If I could do this without him – or that drug-dealing pig, de Quesada – I would, but I need their money. For now, at least. After we succeed, I think I will change the deal. It is time Venezuela was . . . cleaned.’

‘Well, if you need my services again, you have my card,’ said Stikes. Callas smiled darkly, then watched the helicopters.

Valero frowned as they neared, puzzled. ‘What is it?’ Nina asked.

‘The big helicopter – it is a gunship, Russian. You yanquis call them Hinds.’ Nina looked more closely as the two choppers prepared to land. The subject of Valero’s confusion was, she suspected, every bit as deadly as it was ugly, stubby wings bearing rocket pods and a huge multi-barrelled cannon beneath its nose. ‘We have them here in Venezuela – but this one is from Peru.’

‘Peru?’ Now it was Nina’s turn to be bewildered. ‘But that’s Colombia over there. Peru’s four hundred miles away.’

‘I know. And this Pachac, I have heard of him. He is a communist revolutionary, but a dangerous one, a killer – even the Shining Path threw him out. He is also a drug lord.’

‘Sounds like a nice guy,’ said Macy.

‘If he has got a gunship, that is bad. If he has brought it to my country to give to mercenaries, that is worse! I do not like this.’

‘You’re not the only one,’ said Nina. The Hind moved over the pad, blowing dust and grit in all directions as it touched down beside the Mil, tripod landing gear compressing under its armoured weight. The smaller helicopter, a civilian Jet Ranger, followed suit.

A man climbed from the Jet Ranger, bending low beneath the still spinning rotors even though his short stature meant he was in no danger of decapitation. Like Stikes, he wore a military beret, this one blood-red. Giving the Hind an almost longing look, he approached Callas and Stikes.

‘Ah, Inkarrí!’ cried Callas, suddenly exuding warmth and friendliness towards the new arrival, who responded with similar, not entirely sincere, enthusiasm. He was not of Hispanic descent, instead having the broad features of a native Indian. While far from tall, he had a powerful chest and muscular arms, his sun-weathered skin showing that his physique was the result of long outdoor labour rather than a gym. The two men briefly conversed in Spanish, then Callas switched to English. ‘Alexander Stikes, meet Arcani Pachac.’

Stikes and Pachac shook hands. ‘The mercenary,’ said the Peruvian with vague disapproval.

‘I simply provide a service,’ said Stikes. ‘Once the job’s done, I leave. Quick, clean and efficient, with no messy differences of ideology to cause problems afterwards.’ A hint of a smile. ‘So, how are your relations with the Shining Path at the moment?’

Pachac’s eyes widened with anger. ‘Do not mention those traitors! Counter-revolutionary bastards!’

‘Well, should you need help to clean house after overthrowing the bourgeois imperialist puppets in Lima,’ said the Englishman, still amused, ‘give me a call. In the meantime, I’d like to check the general’s new acquisition.’ Pachac nodded, and Stikes marched to the Hind. Its pilot – a Caucasian – climbed out and saluted him, then took him on an inspection tour of the gunship.

Pachac’s reluctance to give up the helicopter was clear. ‘The damage we could do if we could make its weapons work again! I would give you back your money, and more.’ Revolutionary fervour faded, replaced by businesslike pragmatism. ‘But speaking of money . . . ’

Callas signalled to a waiting soldier, who lugged a pair of canvas holdalls, one large, one small, to the two men. ‘Here. The rest of your payment. Two million US dollars, in cash.’

The Peruvian opened the large bag, revealing bundles of banknotes. ‘I’m sure Chairman Mao would be proud,’ Nina muttered.

Pachac heard her, and glared up at the truck’s occupants. ‘Who are these yanquis?’

‘Prisoners,’ said Callas. ‘Don’t worry about them, they will not be here for long. And speaking of prisoners, I have a gift for you, Inkarrí. Two gifts, in fact. I think you will like them both.’ He gave an order to the soldier, and the man jogged away to a nearby hut. By the time Pachac had satisfied himself that the holdall contained everything due to him, the soldier was returning with a comrade, between them hauling a third man, a bound civilian with a bloodied face.

Even through his swollen, purpled eyes he saw Pachac, and gasped in fright, trying to break free. One of the soldiers punched him. The two men dropped him at their commander’s feet.

Pachac clapped in cruel delight. ‘Cayo! Ah, Cayo, it has been a while since I last saw you.’ His voice became a snarl. ‘Since you betrayed me. Since you stole half a million dollars of my drugs and gave them to de Quesada, along with your loyalty.’ He kicked the helpless man in the chest. ‘You shit!’

‘He was caught crossing the border with two others,’ said Callas. ‘And ten kilos of cocaine. He tried to pass himself off as one of your smugglers, but used an old password. So my men arrested him.’

‘The others?’

A shrug. ‘They had unfortunate accidents. They will never be found.’

‘And the cocaine?’

‘Confiscated, of course. Venezuela does not tolerate drug smugglers. Ones who don’t pay, anyway.’

Pachac looked at the nearby soldiers. ‘Are all the men on this base . . . yours?’

Callas nodded. ‘They are all loyal to me, yes. You may do what you wish with this man.’

‘Very good.’ Pachac crouched beside Cayo and produced a folding knife, opening it with a loud metallic snick. The man jerked up his head, whimpering in fear. ‘Yes, you know that noise, don’t you? You have heard it before when I have dealt with traitors.’ He was still speaking in English, glancing up at Nina and the others as if revelling in the opportunity to perform for a new audience. Cayo wailed and begged for mercy, but Pachac shoved him down on to his back. ‘Now, I will deal with you!’

Even with her hands over her eyes, Loretta still screamed at the sound of Pachac stabbing the knife deep into Cayo’s torso just below his sternum. His cries became an almost animalistic screech as the blade sawed down his body. Blood gushed from the lengthening wound.

Pachac worked the knife to the struggling man’s waistband, then sharply withdrew it. ‘And now,’ he said, with almost some twisted form of reverence, ‘capacocha.’

Osterhagen was too revolted to look, but still reacted to the word with shock. ‘My God . . . ’

‘What does it mean?’ asked the equally appalled Nina.

‘It is the Inca ritual . . . of human sacrifice.’

‘Oh, Jesus,’ she gasped, sickened.

Pachac locked his blood-slicked hands round Cayo’s neck. His victim’s eyes bulged horribly as he struggled to breathe, coughing up blood. The Peruvian pushed down, cartilage crackling inside Cayo’s throat. His legs thrashed, blood spouting from the gaping wound with each kick . . .

Then his movements became weaker, slower.

And stopped.

Pachac released his hands. There was a gurgling hiss from the dead man’s mouth, a last release of trapped air, and he was still. His killer lowered his head, speaking in a language Nina didn’t recognise, then retrieved his knife and wiped off the blood on the corpse’s clothing.

‘So that was capacocha?’ said Callas, having watched the hideous exhibition with an expression of no more distaste than if he had discovered a fly on his food.

‘Only the strangling,’ Pachac told him. ‘The other part is mine. But when I come to power in Peru as the Inkarrí, it will be how traitors and the bourgeois are executed.’

‘He’s mad,’ the trembling Osterhagen whispered to Nina.

‘What does it mean?’ she asked. ‘What’s the Inkarrí?’

‘An Inca myth – a prophecy, of a leader who will restore the Inca empire to glory. My God! He really thinks he’s the Inkarrí reborn!’ The German buried his head in his hands.

Callas gestured to the two soldiers, who picked up Cayo’s body and slung it into the back of the truck. Loretta was now too far gone even to scream again, curled up tightly and rocking back and forth as Macy held her. Nina, nauseated, looked away from the still bleeding corpse to see Stikes and the pilot returning from the Hind. ‘Well,’ the Englishman announced, ‘everything seems in order.’

‘It is ready?’ Callas asked.

‘It’ll need some minor maintenance before the operation, but nothing Gurov can’t handle.’ He nodded at the pilot. ‘It may have been decommissioned, but everything except the weaponry is still working. And we can have the fire control systems reinstalled in twenty-four hours. All it needs is a lick of paint, some ammunition, the transponder code, and we’re good to go.’

‘Good. Good!’ Callas beamed. ‘Arcani, I cannot thank you enough. This helicopter is crucial to Venezuela’s future. Your support is beyond price.’

‘Unlike the safe passage of my drugs through your country,’ Pachac replied sharply.

‘For your help, you will get a very big discount on the percentage you pay me! But I told you I have another gift.’ He presented the smaller holdall to the Peruvian. ‘Here.’

Pachac, not sure what to expect, opened the bag. Inside was a polished wooden box, about eight inches square. He lifted the lid – and gasped.

Nina craned her neck for a better look. She was almost as impressed as Pachac by the box’s contents: a smaller version of the golden sun disc, with elaborate tongues of ‘fire’ spiralling out from its edges.

‘An Inca treasure,’ said Callas. ‘I thought you should have it.’

Pachac’s wonder quickly faded, resentment surfacing. ‘While you sell the other lost treasures of my people to anyone who has the dollars.’

‘They were found in Venezuela,’ Callas said patronisingly. ‘So they belong to my people, not yours. And you could have bid for any of them – if your followers in the True Red Way did not mind you spending millions of dollars of the cause’s money on golden trinkets . . . ’

The Peruvian snapped the box shut and turned angrily away, taking in the crate next to the Venezuelan helicopter for the first time. Realisation dawned as its odd dimensions suggested what it might contain. He whirled back to Callas. ‘That – that is—’

‘The Punchaco, yes,’ Callas replied. ‘Two tons of Inca gold.’

‘You must let me have it. You must.’ Pachac was almost pleading. ‘It is the greatest symbol of the Incas – of my people. We must have it back!’

‘The gold alone is worth more than you can afford, Inkarrí.’ The general’s use of the title now held more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘And because it is an Inca treasure, it is even more valuable. But I have found a buyer.’

Pachac’s face paled. ‘No . . . ’ he whispered, then more forcefully, with rising anger: ‘No! Not him!’

‘Yes, your old friend - your old partner, Francisco de Quesada. He can afford it. And anything else he desires. You could have been the same, if you had concentrated on business and not politics . . . ’

The Maoist’s teeth clenched in rage. ‘He only wants it to insult me! And you cannot even get it to him. My contacts told me that your smuggler, West, was arrested. Without him, it will never get through customs – and what else can you do, drive it through the jungle? There are many bandits round here. On both sides of the border.’ He gave Callas a pointed look. ‘You cannot give it to him.’

Callas laughed. ‘I am not giving it to him. He has already paid me the first twenty million dollars!’

Pachac looked down sharply at the bundles of banknotes. ‘You are paying me with that bastard’s money?’ A burst of invective, again in the unfamiliar language. ‘Give me the Punchaco, or this deal is off!’

‘The deal has been agreed, Arcani,’ said Callas.

‘I am not leaving without the Punchaco.’ Pachac’s right hand slipped inside his camouflage jacket.

The soldiers snapped up their AK-103s. Callas’s face was now stone. ‘Remember where you are, Pachac,’ he growled. ‘You have your money, my thanks, and even my gift. Take them, and have your revolution. But do not challenge me in my own country. It will be painful.’

The shorter man glared at him, breathing heavily. Finally, he zipped up the holdall, then picked it up and, the wooden box under one arm, strutted without a word back to the Jet Ranger.

‘Communist scum,’ snarled Callas once the Peruvian was aboard.

Stikes appeared entertained by the whole confrontation. ‘I did rather enjoy the hypocrisy, though. A man who’s such a hard-core Maoist that he thinks the Shining Path are counter-revolutionary, making millions by selling drugs. Holding two completely conflicting viewpoints at the same time? No wonder he’s insane.’

‘He did have a point, though,’ Callas admitted. ‘Without West, getting the Punchaco to de Quesada will be very difficult. And I need the rest of his payment – even after the operation succeeds, there will be chaos. The only way to calm it will be with money to the right people. Lots of money.’

An odd smile crept on to Stikes’s face, and he gave Nina a calculating look. ‘I think I may have a way.’

Callas regarded him questioningly, but before he could speak the Jet Ranger took off, sweeping more dust across the helipad. Stikes brushed grit from his sleeves and addressed the Russian pilot. ‘Gurov, take the Hind to the staging area and restore the weapons. General,’ he said to Callas as Gurov returned to the gunship, ‘we should get back to the Clubhouse – there are still tactical issues to discuss.’

Callas nodded, then looked at the prisoners in the truck. ‘First we deal with them. Dr Wilde is the only one we need alive. The others—’

‘Jindal too,’ Stikes interrupted.

‘What?’ Callas asked, confused, as Nina and Kit exchanged shocked looks. ‘The Interpol agent? Why him?’

‘I have my reasons.’ He let the words hang in the air as he regarded Kit thoughtfully.

‘Get them down,’ Callas ordered. The soldiers in the truck forced Nina and Kit to their feet.

‘Let them go,’ Nina demanded. ‘If you kill them, you might as well kill me too, because I’ll never tell you what you want to know.’

The Venezuelan smiled, a chilling crocodile grin. ‘That sounds like a challenge, Dr Wilde. And as I told Pachac, challenging me results in pain. Great pain.’

He shouted more commands in Spanish: for a forklift to load the crate containing the Punchaco aboard the Mil; two men to take a Jeep to Valverde and clear out any personal effects from the expedition’s hotel rooms; the prisoners to be driven to ‘the hole’. Whatever it was, it was clear that the trip would be one way. Callas began to walk away—

‘Bastardo!’ yelled Valero. He dived for one of the soldiers’ weapons, only to be clubbed down and kicked repeatedly in the head and chest. Macy jumped up, shouting for them to stop, but was shoved to the bloodstained floor.

‘Let them go,’ Nina repeated. This time, it was not a demand but a plea for mercy.

None was forthcoming. Callas waved a hand, and the truck drove away, the prisoners at gunpoint in its back.

15

Panting, muscles stiff and burning, Eddie watched from a high branch of a creeper-choked tree as the truck set off. His run through the jungle, stopping every ten minutes to check his bearing against the sun, had taken just over two hours. Tough going, but the thought of what would happen to Nina and the others if he didn’t make it had driven him on.

But he was too late.

Even from outside the perimeter fence he had picked out Nina’s red hair immediately in the hot afternoon sun. She and Kit were being taken to the Mi-17. A forklift hoisted the crate containing the sun disc into its cabin, and it looked as though Stikes, recognisable by his beret, and Callas were waiting to board the helicopter as well.

But his concern was now for those left behind. The armed guards in the truck told him that at least some of the prisoners were still alive . . . but they wouldn’t be for long. Civilians held on a military base might arouse questions. Corpses buried in the jungle would not.

But how could he help them? The truck was too far away for him to catch up. And he couldn’t help Nina and Kit either; too many armed men around the helipad for him to stand a chance of even getting close.

The helipad . . .

Part of his mind had already subconsciously registered something wrong, and as the other chopper’s rotors began to turn he realised what. A Hind? That wasn’t unusual in itself, as the Russian flying tank had been sold all over the world . . . but this one bore the red-and-white roundel of Peru, not the Venezuelan tricolour. What was it doing here?

He dismissed the question when he saw something more important. On the far side of the base was a small motor pool. A soldier climbed into a Jeep.

His chance—

Eddie leapt down, breaking into a run parallel to the boundary fence. He couldn’t catch the truck – but if he was fast enough, he might be able to intercept the Jeep.

The Hind roared into the air and turned northwards. The Mil had been loaded, the forklift backing away to let its passengers, willing and otherwise, board. A flash of red: Nina being pushed inside.

He forced down a surge of anger and kept running. The soldier in the Jeep waved impatiently to another man. The deforested area was only about two hundred metres across – once the 4×4 set off, it wouldn’t take long to reach the gate.

A corner of the fence ahead. He swung round it, angling away from the base. Another glance—

The Jeep was on the move.

Shit! Could he catch it? It disappeared from view, blocked by trees, then reappeared. Closer than he had expected. The driver was in a hurry.

So was Eddie. He forced himself on, aware that one stumble on the uneven ground could cost the prisoners their lives. Dangling vines swatted at his face. His heart pounded, leg muscles on fire, but he couldn’t stop.

A scrape and clatter of metal – the gate being opened. He heard the clash of gears as the driver set off.

A shallow slope ahead. The muddy road at the bottom came into view through the undergrowth – as did the Jeep. Moving quickly.

Too quickly. Eddie knew he couldn’t reach it before it passed.

His chance was gone—

No!

He turned again, aiming ahead of the Jeep, and leapt up, grabbing a clutch of creepers hanging from a high tree. He swung down the slope, reaching the bottom of his arc, rising higher . . .

And letting go.

He fell, landing with a bone-jarring crash in the Jeep’s open back as it passed. The two soldiers had put their AK-103s on the rear seat, and it now felt as though they were embedded in his spine.

The pain of his touchdown was nothing compared to the soldiers’ shock, however. The driver jumped halfway out of his seat in fright. The 4×4 swerved almost into a ditch before he regained control.

Eddie pulled himself upright. One of the AKs clattered into the footwell. But they were too close to the base for him to use the weapon – the shots would draw attention. Instead, he smashed an elbow into the driver’s face as he looked round. The Venezuelan’s head snapped back, blood spraying from his burst lip.

The other man twisted in his seat, grabbing for the rifle. Eddie chopped at his throat. He jerked away, the blow catching his jaw.

A retaliatory strike lashed at Eddie’s eyes. He threw himself back – and banged his head on the hard-edged bodywork.

The passenger took advantage of his brief dizziness, pulling the AK from the footwell by its barrel. He spun it round, about to empty the magazine into the intruder’s chest at point-blank range—

Eddie reached between the front seats and yanked the handbrake.

The 4×4 skidded. The sudden deceleration caused the passenger to be thrown forward, and his head thunked forcefully against the windscreen’s frame.

Eddie used the same inertia to fling himself upright. The dazed soldier was halfway out of his seat, and Eddie shoved him with both hands to make the exit complete. With a cry, the passenger tumbled out of the Jeep’s open side, and hit a tree at the roadside head first, breaking his neck. The AK bounced into the undergrowth.

One down – but the driver had recovered. He released the handbrake and stamped down hard on the accelerator.

The Jeep fishtailed, kicking up a muddy spray. The sudden swerve hurled Eddie sideways. He clutched desperately for a handhold to avoid following the dead soldier out of the vehicle, but only caught the edge of the rear seat. He hung over the Jeep’s side, mud splattering into his face.

The driver jerked the steering wheel. The Jeep swayed, tipping Eddie even further out. The track blurred past beneath him. He tried to hook a foot under the front seats, but couldn’t get a firm hold.

Green in his peripheral vision—

He closed his eyes as a plant at the roadside smacked into his cheek, at this speed even mere leaves enough to draw blood. Stinging, he looked ahead again – to see a tree coming up fast.

The driver saw it too. He swerved to scrape off his uninvited passenger against its thick trunk.

Eddie kicked, searching for a foothold. His boot thumped against the hard seatback. He strained to pull himself back into the Jeep, but couldn’t get enough leverage.

The tree rushed closer, filling his vision—

His groping foot finally caught the seat’s underside, and he yanked himself back inside as the tree whipped past, the leafy creepers dangling from it swatting his head.

Other parasitic growths concealed a danger of their own, though – a branch protruding into the road—

The driver screamed and braked hard – but too late.

The branch hit the Jeep’s windscreen. The glass shattered, pieces showering into the driver’s face. Chunks of broken wood bombarded both men. The remaining AK fell off the rear seat, ending up beneath the driver.

Eddie recovered first. He grabbed a piece of smashed tree and swung it at the soldier’s head, scoring a satisfyingly solid hit.

But the driver wasn’t out of the fight, swerving the 4×4 sharply across the track. As Eddie swayed, the Kalashnikov rattled into the front footwell – giving the driver the chance to snatch it up.

With an angry leer of victory, the Venezuelan swung round to shoot his attacker—

Eddie was gone.

The soldier was bewildered by his apparent disappearance – until he realised the Englishman had flattened himself across the rear seat.

He whirled back—

The Jeep had angled off the track – directly under a low, thick branch. There was a crunching thud. Slowed by dense bushes, the 4×4 bounced to a stop amidst the undergrowth. The engine rattled and stalled.

Eddie cautiously looked up. The driver was still in his seat . . . up to his neck. His head was a hundred feet further back, a pulped mess beneath the bough that had chopped it from his body.

‘Nice bit of tree surgery,’ Eddie said, clambering into the front and kicking the decapitated corpse from the Jeep. He recovered the AK-103, then restarted the engine and backed the 4×4 on to the road.

Now, he had to find the truck.

Before it was too late.

The new track was even more narrow and overgrown than the one that had led to Paititi, trees clawing at the military truck. Macy ducked a clawing branch, then peered fearfully at her surroundings. The vehicle had turned off the base’s access road on to the almost hidden path only a few minutes earlier, but even over that short distance the jungle had transformed into a dark, malevolent thicket. The trees were gnarled, as if twisted by the wounds of physically battling each other for the few scraps of daylight. Even the sun seemed to have abandoned this place . . . or turned away in horror.

Because there was something hanging in the air, permeating everything with foulness. A stench, beyond the inescapable jungle odour of decaying vegetation.

Osterhagen had caught it too. ‘I did my civilian service in the Katastrophenschutz – disaster relief,’ he whispered to Macy, his face grim. ‘I know that smell.’

The scent of death.

They were at their journey’s end.

Macy searched the soldiers’ faces for any hint of mercy. She found none. The four Venezuelans holding them at gunpoint were all cold, dispassionate. They had done this before.

One last lurch over some roots, and the truck clattered to a stop. The jungle canopy was so thick it seemed like twilight beneath, all colour sapped away. A soldier unlocked the tailgate and let it fall open with a gunshot bang. ‘Muévete!’ he said, pointing out of the truck with his AK.

Soto began to shudder. ‘Oh, please no, please, don’t do this, please . . . ’ One of the soldiers roughly dragged her to her feet. She wailed, a keening mewl of helpless despair as he shoved her from the truck.

Valero snarled, about to leap up at him, but received a brutal kick to the head for his trouble. Another soldier threw him out on to the ground.

The two remaining men gestured with their guns. Macy and Osterhagen picked up the semi-conscious Becker and carried him from the vehicle. One of the soldiers plucked the injured man’s hat from his head and put it on, earning sarcastic laughs from his fellows.

The driver was waiting, Kalashnikov in hand. He signalled for the prisoners to advance. The guards pushed them forward. Macy could hardly breathe, the stench of rot clogging her nostrils and fear tightening her chest. She rounded the truck to see . . . the hole.

It was aptly, bluntly named: just a ragged opening in the earth, steep sides littered with decomposing leaves. But as Macy got closer, she saw that it was not empty.

Bodies were piled inside it, a dozen, more. Most were rotted beyond recognition, insects and animals having feasted on the rich flesh and organs. Only the pair on top of the heap remained recognisably human, just a day or two dead, but even these had already lost their eyes and chunks of skin to the relentless scavengers. Insects swarmed from the blackened bullet wounds in their chests. Cayo’s partners, the drug smugglers.

Cayo himself soon joined them. As the other soldiers held the prisoners at gunpoint, two men pulled his corpse from the truck, carted it between them like a sack to the pit, and tossed it in. Flies exploded from the bodies as it thumped down on top of them.

The soldiers repeated the process with Cuff. Macy looked away in horrified disgust. Loretta’s pitiful cries became even louder at the sight of the dead American splayed on the pile, his remaining eye staring dully back at her.

‘Mother of God,’ grumbled one of the soldiers in Spanish, ‘that’s a noise I could live without.’

‘We’ll do her first,’ said another man, before switching to English. ‘Okay, down! On your knees!’

They forced the explorers to kneel at the pit’s edge. Valero muttered a desperate prayer. Macy realised she was crying, tears stinging as she started to hyperventilate. Loretta gave her a pleading look as the soldier stood behind her.

Macy wanted to keep her eyes fixed on the helpless, innocent woman, but her fear forced them shut. A last whimper escaped Loretta’s mouth—

A gunshot, shockingly loud.

There was a soft thump as her body slumped forward. The dull impact of a boot against flesh, and with a slithering thud Loretta’s corpse dropped into the hole.

The soldier moved behind Macy.

She desperately tried to open her eyes again, to take one last look at the world, but they were locked shut by terror.

A rustle of cloth as the soldier raised his gun . . .

And another sound, rising fast—

An engine!

She heard the man behind her turn in surprise. ‘Who’s that?’ Macy opened her eyes and looked back.

A military Jeep charged past the truck. Its driver held the steering wheel with one hand, an AK in the other—

Eddie !

‘Duck!’ he yelled, yanking at the wheel—

The 4×4 skidded in the mud as Eddie pointed the Kalashnikov out of its side and pulled the trigger. He didn’t need to aim – the Jeep’s spinning turn swept the bullets in a swathe above the kneeling prisoners’ heads.

Three soldiers took hits to their chests and faces, dropping dead to the ground. The man behind Macy was caught in the left shoulder, the impact sending him reeling to the edge of the pit. With his good arm, he pointed his AK-103 at the Jeep . . .

Macy sprang up and barged him over the edge. He landed on the heaped corpses, rolling down them into the rotting sludge at the bottom of the hole.

One soldier was left standing, though. Eddie’s wild fire had missed him. He raised his gun—

The skidding Jeep had made a half-turn, and was now pointing backwards. Eddie jammed it into reverse and leaned low across the front seats, stamping hard on the accelerator. Bullets clanged through the bodywork and cracked against the seat backs. He yelled, but held his course.

The Jeep hit the soldier with a bang, scooping him up over its back end. Eddie raised his head, seeing the man bent over the rear seat – still very much alive. In reverse the 4×4 was only doing twenty miles per hour.

The Venezuelan’s eyes met Eddie’s, widening with anger. He swung the AK round—

Eddie twitched the wheel, and dropped again.

The Jeep smashed tail first into a tree, throwing Eddie against the bullet-pocked seats – and mashing the soldier into the wood.

Eddie pushed himself upright. The Venezuelan was pinned against the trunk, mouth open in a silent scream of agony. His gun had been thrown into the undergrowth.

‘Eddie!’ Macy cried. Not in thanks, but in warning. The soldier in the pit was still alive, still armed, climbing up over the corpses.

Eddie restarted the engine and put the battered Jeep into first gear, tearing free of the tree. One of the soldier’s legs came with it, snared on twisted metal. ‘Out of the way!’ he shouted. Valero and Osterhagen dragged Becker away, Macy leaping aside as the Jeep surged forward—

Eddie dived out of the 4×4. It sailed over the edge of the pit - just as the soldier reached the top of the piled bodies and aimed his weapon. The Jeep hit like a giant hammer, pounding him back to the bottom of the hole and crushing him into the ooze of his victims.

Macy ran to Eddie and helped him up. ‘Oh my God! Eddie! Are you okay?’

‘Fucking top,’ he groaned, seeing the three men nearby. ‘Where’s Loretta?’

Macy’s tears returned. ‘They – they killed her. Right before you got here.’

‘Oh, shit,’ he breathed, sagging. If he had arrived just a few seconds sooner. . . ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ he repeated, more loudly, to Osterhagen.

The German’s lips were tight as he struggled to hold his emotions in check. ‘You did all you could. Thank you.’

‘How did you find us?’ Macy asked. ‘How did you even get here?’

‘I ran,’ Eddie told her, standing. ‘Got to the base just as they were driving you away.’

‘You ran? Jesus. You’re . . . you’re amazing. Thank you.’ She embraced him, her tears now of gratitude. ‘Thank you.’

Valero, still supporting Becker, limped over. ‘We have to warn the militia about Callas.’

‘Yeah, we do,’ said Eddie, ‘but then we’ve got to find Nina and Kit. I saw Stikes and Callas put them in a chopper. Where are they taking them?’

‘Stikes said something about a clubhouse,’ Macy remembered.

‘A clubhouse?’ Eddie echoed. ‘What, like a golf club?’

Unexpectedly, Valero laughed, a bitter little bark. ‘Not a golf club – but near one. The Clubhouse. It is the joke name of a house in Caracas,’ he explained to his bewildered audience. ‘It overlooks a golf course in one of the richest parts of the city. The government confiscated it from a businessman who did not pay his taxes. It was supposed to be given to the people, but the military took it over – temporarily, so they said. But they are still there.’

‘Callas is using it?’ Macy asked. Valero nodded.

‘Then that’s where they’ve taken Nina and Kit,’ said Eddie. He frowned, thinking. ‘Is that Peruvian Hind – the gunship – part of what Callas is doing?’

‘A drug lord called Pachac got it for him,’ said Valero. ‘We heard them talking about it. I don’t know what Callas is planning, but it is why he has been selling the treasures from Paititi – he needs millions of dollars, tens of millions, to pay for it.’

‘He’s an army general doing something he doesn’t want the President to know about, he’s got a helicopter gunship, and he’s hired Stikes for some “conflict resolution”. There’s only one thing this can be about.’ Eddie looked grim. ‘Callas is planning a coup.’ He indicated the truck. ‘Sooner we get moving, the more chance we have of stopping it.’

‘What . . . what about Loretta?’ asked Osterhagen, glancing hesitantly towards the pit. ‘I don’t want to leave her there.’

‘We’ll have to,’ said Eddie. ‘Sorry, but we don’t have time to bury her properly. Once we contact the militia we can tell them how to find this place, but right now we’ve got to get out of here. We’re not far from the base, so it won’t be long before this lot are missed.’

‘I understand,’ Osterhagen said with an unhappy nod. ‘Oscar, help me with Ralf.’

‘Macy, see if there’s a first aid kit in the truck,’ Eddie said as they took Becker to the tailgate. He collected the dead soldiers’ rifles, then searched the bodies, gathering a handful of Venezuelan currency.

Even after the horrors he had witnessed, Osterhagen was still shocked. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Being practical,’ said Eddie. ‘We’ve got no money, and we might need some to make a call. Besides, these bastards don’t need it. Okay, let’s go.’

He retrieved Becker’s fedora and handed it to Osterhagen, then climbed into the driving seat, Macy beside him. The vehicle turned, then rattled away down the path, leaving the dead in silence.

16

Valverde was just beyond a small rise. Eddie stopped the truck and opened the cab’s rear window to speak to the men in the back. ‘Okay, the soldiers in town’ll be looking for us – or at least me. So what do we do?’

‘Can we get to the phone in the hotel?’ Osterhagen asked.

‘That’ll be the top thing on their watch list,’ said Macy. ‘Is there anywhere else we can go?’

‘San Fernando de Atabapo is the next town,’ Valero told her, ‘but to reach it by road we have to drive through Valverde.’

‘How about flying there?’ Eddie suggested.

‘We can – but if we are flying,’ said Valero, an idea striking him, ‘we should get as far from Callas’s men as we can. My plane is fully fuelled. It can reach Caracas.’

‘Can we use its radio to contact the militia?’

‘Yes – yes, we can! I can put an emergency call through to air traffic control.’

‘Okay, so we go for the airfield,’ Eddie decided.

Macy made a pensive face. ‘Hate to be Debbie Downer, but we kinda have to drive through town to get to the airfield.’

It was true. ‘Bollocks! Okay, how about walking? We skirt round town and get to the plane from the jungle.’

‘What about Ralf?’ said Osterhagen. Becker, lying between the German and Valero in the rear bed, had fallen into a state of drifting semi-consciousness. ‘He will slow us down – and we can’t leave him behind. If the soldiers find him, they’ll kill him.’

Osterhagen was right; they couldn’t abandon the injured man. ‘That doesn’t leave us much choice, then. We’ll just have to charge through and hope we’re in the air before they catch up.’ He addressed the two men. ‘Can either of you drive a truck?’

‘I can,’ said Valero.

‘Good. Get in here, then.’

Macy was mildly offended. ‘How do you know I can’t drive the truck?’ she demanded.

‘Can you double-declutch?’ asked Eddie.

‘Can I what?’

‘You can’t drive the truck. Stay in the cab and keep your head down.’ He picked up one of the AK-103s and hopped out. Valero clambered inside and took his place. Eddie climbed into the cargo bed and crouched at the rear window. ‘Okay, Oscar, soon as any soldiers see us we’re in trouble, so gun it through the town.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Macy asked.

He waved the Kalashnikov. ‘Have a guess. Everyone set?’ ‘No,’ she said in a small voice.

He smiled at her, then banged the cab roof. ‘Oscar, let’s go.’

Valero put the truck in gear and set off. The Russian-built vehicle was designed for carrying heavy loads over poor terrain, not speed; it took more than half a minute for it to reach thirty miles an hour. Eddie looked ahead. They were at the top of the rise, Valverde coming into view.

The town’s military presence had increased. A pair of Jeeps was parked at the settlement’s edge – not a roadblock, but certainly a checkpoint.

And they would have to go through it.

‘Two Jeeps,’ Eddie warned Valero. ‘Aim for the one on the left – don’t ram it, it’ll slow us down too much. Just try to smash the front.’

‘What about the other one?’ Macy asked.

Another shake of the gun. ‘Again, guess!’

He checked the road ahead. The soldiers at the checkpoint had seen the approaching truck, but weren’t yet concerned.

That would change when they realised it wasn’t going to stop.

‘Grab on to something,’ Eddie warned Osterhagen, before bracing himself for the impending collision.

The truck bore down on the soldiers. One man stood in the road waving his hands over his head – then dived out of its way. Another unshouldered his rifle.

Eddie readied his own weapon as Valero swerved—

There was a colossal crunch as the truck’s girder-like front bumper smashed into the Jeep, sending it spinning into a ditch. The second soldier brought up his AK—

Eddie fired first, aiming not at the soldier, but at his vehicle. A burst of fire hit the Jeep, ripping into the radiator and engine.

The panicked Venezuelan had dived when the gunfire started, but now he was back on his feet. ‘Get down!’ Eddie shouted, ducking. Osterhagen dropped flat, holding Becker. Bullets cracked against the tailgate, and the rear window shattered. Macy shrieked, Valero sliding as low in his seat as he dared.

Eddie held the AK over his head and sent a couple of shots blindly back down the road, forcing the gunman to take shelter. The firing stopped. The truck roared past the hotel, townspeople running for cover.

Eddie rose again, rapidly turning to search for danger. Most of the soldiers on the streets were more interested in their own safety than in opening fire, and were sprinting out of the truck’s path. Another couple of shots deterred the others from retaliating.

A bend in the street put the troops out of sight behind a building. Eddie looked ahead. They were almost through the little settlement already; a few hundred metres away was the turning to the airfield. ‘Okay, Oscar,’ he shouted, ‘slow down for the turn. Crash the gate and head straight for your plane – I’ll sort out anyone following us.’

Valero complied. The track’s condition was even worse than the main road’s, and everyone was thrown from side to side. Becker cried out in pain.

The airfield came into sight. Across the track was a wooden barrier, but it snapped like a toothpick as the truck thundered through. An angry civilian ran from the terminal hut after the intruders, but the sight of Eddie’s AK made him do an aboutface and flee for the ruined gate instead.

Valero skidded to a stop alongside his plane. ‘Macy, grab the other gun, then help the doc with Ralf,’ Eddie ordered as he jumped down. On foot, at a run, it would only take the soldiers a couple of minutes to catch up, and if they had another Jeep it would be even sooner. He took up position behind the truck to watch the airfield entrance. Macy and Osterhagen carried Becker to the plane. Valero, rather than climbing into the cockpit and starting the engine, was examining something on the wing. ‘Oscar, what’re you doing? Get it going!’

‘I have to do the pre-flight checks,’ Valero shouted back.

‘There’s no time!’

‘But if something goes wrong—’

‘Don’t worry about gremlins, worry about bullets! They’ll be here any minute!’

Clearly unhappy, Valero nevertheless abandoned his inspection and climbed into the Cessna’s cabin. Osterhagen and Macy lifted Becker through the large main hatch on the port side.

Eddie looked back at the gate. The airfield worker was gone, but the track wouldn’t be empty for long. Seconds passed. The plane remained silent. ‘Oscar, start the bloody thing!’

‘It’s not a car!’ Valero protested. ‘I have to check the circuit breakers and set the engine mixture.’

‘Then check ’em and set ’em faster!’

Movement at the gate—

Two soldiers ran towards the terminal hut. Eddie fired two shots; neither hit, but they forced the men to dive for cover. Still no sound from the Cessna’s engine. ‘Get the fucking thing going, Oscar!’

A third soldier appeared, keeping low. A round clanked off the truck’s flank as he took a shot. Eddie returned fire. This time, the bullets were on target, the soldier flailing backwards.

But now another three men had arrived, opening up with their AK-103s. More shots hit the truck like hot hail. Eddie ducked behind the rear wheels, crouching to peer under the cargo bed. The first two soldiers were moving again. If they advanced much further, they would have a clean shot at the plane as it taxied to takeoff position.

Grey and red metal barrels, stacked in a little fenced compound near the hut—

Eddie emptied the AK’s magazine into the fuel drums.

A barrel exploded with a crump and a great splash of liquid fire, others following in a chain reaction. Burning drums shot skywards on trails of flame, falling back to earth like bombs. A tumbling keg crashed through the roof of the terminal hut, and the entire building exploded in a storm of flying corrugated panels.

The destruction had the desired effect. The soldiers retreated as fast as they could from the spreading flames.

Another loud noise, this time behind him – the Cessna’s engine turning over. A choppy, reluctant coughing . . . then the propeller burst into motion. Eddie dropped the empty AK and leapt through the cabin door. ‘Oscar, go, go, go!’

Valero opened the throttle. The Cessna hauled itself complainingly out of the indentations its weight had left in the earth and jolted over the uneven ground towards the runway.

Eddie faced the door. ‘Macy, gun!’ She passed him the second AK. He grabbed a dangling strap above the opening with his left hand, then leaned out and pointed the weapon back towards the gate. The soldiers were still scattering as the fires spread, oily smoke boiling into the sky.

Backwash from the propeller whipped past him as Valero increased power, swinging the plane into line with the runway. Eddie braced himself. The last takeoff had been a bumpy ride, and this was likely to be a lot worse . . .

‘Shit!’ A Jeep raced through the gate, two soldiers inside. The passenger stood in his seat, supporting his AK-103 on the windscreen. ‘Take off, now!’

Valero brought the throttle to full power. The plane picked up speed, landing gear crashed over bumps.

The Jeep speeded up too – closing in.

Eddie and the soldier fired almost simultaneously. Their aim was thrown off by the rough ride, but the Venezuelan had a larger target. Bullets pocked the wing as Eddie fired again. The Jeep’s windscreen crazed, but neither soldier was hit. Another burst from the 4×4, followed by a crack-crack-crack of lead punching through aluminium. Valero yelped as the instrument panel was hit.

Eddie pulled the trigger once more. The Jeep’s windscreen shattered. The shooter dropped back into his seat, hanging on tightly as the driver swerved sharply to take the vehicle behind the Cessna’s tail.

Out of Eddie’s firing line.

‘Dammit!’ He turned. The Jeep came into view through the rearmost starboard window, but trying to shoot out the toughened acrylic might result in a lethal ricochet. Instead, he gripped the strap more tightly and leaned from the open hatch, swinging round to bring his gun arm over the top of the fuselage.

‘Eddie, Jesus Christ!’ Macy shrieked. ‘Get back inside!’

But he could no longer hear her, the propeller’s piercing rasp joined by the rising roar of wind. He fired another burst at the Jeep. The rifle bucked in his hand, banging against the metal roof.

The soldier shot back. Bullets pierced the fuselage.

One of the Cessna’s wheels ran through a deep dip. The whole aircraft jolted violently – and Eddie’s right foot slipped.

Unbalanced, he swung further out of the plane. The strap creaked, biting into the flesh of his wrist. His other foot was hooked round the hatch’s frame, metal digging painfully though the leather of his boot.

His right arm started to slip back down the fuselage’s curved roof. . .

The Cessna’s nose tipped upwards. The Jeep was falling behind, but still firing. More bullets riddled the plane.

Eddie kept sliding—

With a last straining swing of his arm, he jammed the AK over the base of the tailfin – and swivelled the weapon to fire at the Jeep.

The remaining bullets spewed out, most of them harmlessly hitting soil and grass – but one caught the speeding Jeep’s front tyre, which deflated abruptly, the wheel rim shredding it. The Jeep flipped over and tossed both soldiers high into the air.

The Cessna’s wings flexed as they took the plane’s weight—

The ground made one final attempt to claw the plane back down to earth, a wheel striking a muddy hump. The Caravan lurched – and Eddie’s boot lost its grip on the doorframe.

The seventy-five mile an hour wind snatched him out of the hatch. He lost his hold on the AK-103, the weapon spinning away as the Cessna took to the sky. He slapped his hand against the roof, but there was almost no grip to be found on the smooth metal. The strap around his wrist creaked and strained, the fastener attaching it to the hull buckling under his weight.

‘Eddie!’ Macy cried. She yanked at her seatbelt release.

The plane kept climbing: one hundred feet, one-fifty. Valero struggled to keep the controls steady. ‘Close the hatch!’ he yelled.

‘Eddie’s out there!’ Macy screamed back. She staggered to her feet, clinging to the seats as she made her way down the steeply sloping aisle.

‘No, you’ll be killed!’ Osterhagen shouted, but she kept moving. With a curse, he unlocked his own seatbelt.

Outside, Eddie felt what little hold he had on the fuselage slipping away as the plane picked up speed. He was flapping like a flag, legs trailing helplessly.

And the strap was giving way. He could feel the fastener breaking . . .

A hand grabbed his wrist. He squinted into the wind. Slim fingers, neat nails. Macy. She poked her head through the hatch, black hair whipping round her face. ‘Get back in!’ he yelled.

‘No, hang on!’ she shouted, tugging at his arm. Eddie shook his head, desperately willing her back inside. He didn’t want to die – but he wanted to drag her with him even less. Macy just didn’t have the sheer physical strength needed to pull him through the hatch against the wind – and his fingertips were slipping off the hull . . .