Empire of Gold

‘That’s because you’re blind, Tito,’ Callas spat. ‘You’re living in a fantasy world.’ Sarcasm twisted his lips. ‘All your glorious revolution will do is make everyone poor. Our country needs strength, not dreams!’

‘The strength of the dictator?’

‘Isn’t that what we have now?’ the general countered.

Suarez drew in a long breath, his expression cold. ‘Salbatore Delgado Callas,’ he said. ‘You are under arrest. Your crime is treason.’ He nodded to the soldiers. ‘Take him away.’

They turned, pulling Callas with them. He resisted – causing one of the soldiers to stumble.

It was enough for Callas to break one arm free.

He snatched the pistol from the captain’s holster and whipped it round at Suarez—

A single gunshot cracked across the plaza. In Suarez’s hand was the pistol he had taken from Rojas. The soldiers holding the general jumped back in shock. Callas stared at the bullet wound in his chest, mouth wide in silent pain.

He looked back at Suarez, trying with his last breath to bring up his own gun and pull the trigger . . .

Then he collapsed at his enemy’s feet, blood pooling around him.

The coup was over.

25

‘So, Mac,’ said Eddie, with a twinge of stiff and bruised muscles as he raised a glass of beer, ‘how does it feel to be back in action?’

The Scot regarded him through narrowed eyes. ‘What, you mean apart from the injuries, the fear, the gunshots and car crashes and explosions, and losing my leg – again?’ He thumped the heel of his reattached prosthetic limb on the floor.

‘Yeah, apart from all that.’

Mac smiled and raised his own drink. ‘Rather good, actually. Cheers!’

‘Cheers.’ The two men clinked glasses.

Over twenty-four hours had passed since the end of Callas’s attempted revolution, and the pair were sitting in the hotel bar. It had been a busy day for all of the group. In addition to receiving medical treatment for their numerous battle scars, the various members had then had to deal with officialdom, both Venezuelan and from their own countries. Eddie and Mac had been summoned to the British embassy, Kit went to make his report at the local Interpol headquarters, and Nina and Macy were whisked away by a cavalcade of black SUVs to deal with the US ambassador. The meeting for the two Brits had been relatively short; as Mac had told Eddie, the United Kingdom’s interest in Venezuela was minor, and beyond expressing a regret that Suarez hadn’t suffered an injury that would force him to leave office, the MI6 officer debriefing them stuck to obtaining a purely factual account of events.

The debriefing for the two Americans would, Eddie suspected, be more politically charged. ‘How long do you reckon they’ll keep Nina and Macy, then? Or will they just ship’em straight off to Guantanamo? They could put them in Sophia’s old cell.’

Mac smiled. ‘Maybe they’ll become the next communist icons. You might see Nina’s face on a T-shirt, like Guevara.’

‘Oh, she’d love that,’ said Eddie with a laugh. ‘Now Macy, she’d probably go for it.’

‘She might at that.’ Mac sat back, his expression turning wistful.

‘What is it?’

‘At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I wanted to say that, once again, you’ve done damn good work, Eddie. Whatever we may think of Suarez politically, he’s not a murderer like Callas. Stopping Callas from taking power will have saved God knows how many lives. Well done.’

‘I learned from the best,’ said Eddie. ‘And you helped.’

‘Well, just a tad.’ Mac waved a hand in false modesty. ‘But yes, it was reassuring to know that I’ve still got it. Getting old doesn’t mean we become useless.’

‘We? You saying I’m getting old?’ Eddie asked, grinning.

‘It happens to us all, in the end. If we’re lucky.’

‘Speak for yourself. Soon as Nina finds the Fountain of Youth, I’m going to drink out of it from a bucket!’

Kit entered the bar, accompanied, to Eddie’s surprise, by Osterhagen. ‘Kit, mate! How did it go with Interpol?’

‘As well as could be expected,’ the Indian replied. ‘I had a teleconference with my superiors – they were confused about how an investigation into artefact smuggling turned into the prevention of a coup d’état, but I think I explained everything. As far as I can comprehend how I ended up in this situation myself.’

‘You’ll get used to it. You’ve known Nina for eight months and had this kind of mad shit happen to you twice. I’ve known her for five years, so think how much I’ve been through.’ He turned his attention to Osterhagen. ‘Doc! How are you?’

‘Good, thank you,’ said the German.

‘What about Ralf? Is he okay?’

‘Yes. He is being flown back to Germany and his family.’ He sat down beside Eddie. ‘I heard you had an eventful night.’

Eddie chuckled. ‘You could say that.’

‘But you rescued Nina and Mr Jindal safely.’ He looked round. ‘Where is Nina? I heard she recovered the statues and the khipu. I have a theory about the khipu, and want to discuss it with her.’

‘We recovered the statues . . . ’ Eddie admitted.

‘And the khipu?’

He grimaced. ‘Er . . . no.’

‘What? Then where is it?’

‘Probably best to ask Nina that yourself,’ Eddie told him, seeing his wife and Macy enter. ‘Bloody hell, about time! What kept you?’

Nina shook her head in exasperation. ‘From the way the people from the State Department were carrying on, you’d think we personally expropriated the plantations of United Fruit or something. They were one step away from accusing us of being communists because we didn’t throw Suarez under a bus when we had the chance.’ She squeezed between Osterhagen and Eddie. ‘I’ve had it with debriefings.’

‘No you haven’t. You’ve got one more debriefing to come tonight.’

‘Huh?’ He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously, and after a moment she picked up on his double entendre. ‘Oh. Oh!’ She blushed a little. ‘Well, ah, it’s been kind of a long day, and I need to get some sleep, and ah . . . ’ Macy mouthed Go on! at her. ‘But we have been through an incredibly intense experience, I suppose, a lot of pent-up tension to get rid of, and, ah, somebody please stop me babbling before I make a total ass of myself?’

Everyone laughed, and Eddie put his arm round Nina and kissed her. Osterhagen gave the couple more room. ‘I suppose we can discuss the khipu tomorrow,’ he said.

‘What about the khipu?’ Nina asked.

The German saw Eddie’s glare. ‘It . . . can wait.’

‘Are you sure? I realised something about it at the Clubhouse, how it relates to the map. I think the knots are—’

The glare took on a death-ray intensity. ‘No, really, it can wait!’ said Osterhagen, throwing up his hands. ‘You know, I would like a drink.’

‘Me too,’ said Macy. ‘In fact, I’d like several drinks.’

Eddie gestured towards the bar, catching the attention of a waiter. ‘Suarez is paying for everything, so have whatever you want.’

‘Seriously?’ He nodded; she beamed. ‘Awesome! Champagne, then!’

‘You want anything?’ Eddie asked Nina.

Now it was her turn to look libidinous. ‘Yes, but I think we should put it on room service.’

He cackled, standing and pulling her up with him. ‘Well,’ he said, clapping his hands, ‘we’ll see you all in the morning!’ With that, he scooped the surprised – but excited – Nina up in his arms and carried her from the room.

Mac, amused, held up his glass to the pair as the door swung shut behind them. ‘Here’s to young love.’

Eddie tossed Nina on to their suite’s big bed, making her whoop and giggle. ‘All right, love,’ he said, a grin splitting his face. ‘Get your kit off.’

Nina started to pull off her clothes as Eddie jumped on to the bed beside her, unfastening his belt . . . until he saw her bare arm. The red lump of the scorpion’s sting was still clearly visible. From its size, he immediately knew it was more than a mere insect bite. He frowned. ‘What the hell’s that?’

‘It’s, uh . . . nothing. Don’t worry about it,’ she replied – partly because she didn’t want events redirected from where they had been heading, but mostly because she knew how Eddie would respond.

He wasn’t having it, however. ‘My arse, nothing.’ He examined it more closely. ‘That looks like a scorpion sting! Where the fuck did you get that?’

Nina sat up, half clothed. ‘The Clubhouse,’ she admitted.

‘How did you get a scorpion sting at the Clubhouse?’

‘They . . . ’ She still didn’t want to reveal the truth, now because of her unwillingness to replay what had happened in her mind. But Eddie’s increasingly outraged expression made it clear that he would guess for himself soon enough. ‘They used one to torture me, to find out about the statues and El Dorado.’

‘They tortured you?’ Eddie rolled from the bed and paced across the room, furious, before whirling to face her. ‘Who fucking tortured you?’

Her answer, when it came, was in a very small voice. ‘Stikes.’

‘Stikes? Fucking—’ He was so apoplectic that for a moment he couldn’t speak. Then his voice went unsettlingly cold. ‘Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, I’m going to find him. And I’m going to kill him. I’m going to hunt that bastard down and put a bullet in his face.’

She knew that he meant it. ‘Eddie, Eddie, it’s okay.’ She got off the bed and went to him. ‘I’m all right.’

‘It’s not okay. That fucker.’ He almost spat the word. ‘He’s going to get what he deserves.’

‘Aren’t you the one who once said that revenge isn’t professional?’

‘Depends what it’s for. And he’s done plenty. Time it stopped.’

‘That’d just make you a vigilante. No better than Jerry Rosenthal back in New York.’

He shrugged. ‘Nothing wrong with that. He’s a sound bloke.’

‘Who’s going to be found guilty of murder.’

‘What, for doing the right thing? Dealing with some rapist scumbag who got off on a technicality?’

‘I don’t—’ Nina forced herself to calm down, lowering her voice and putting her arms round her husband. ‘Eddie, I don’t want to argue. Not now, not after everything that’s happened. I’ve had enough fighting. I want . . . ’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I want you.’ She kissed him. ‘Please.’

His face softened, a bit. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Yeah. I’m fine, and I just . . . I just want to think about something else tonight.’ A twitch at the corner of her mouth quickly broadened into a sly grin. ‘I want you to take my mind off everything except one thing.’

Eddie’s anger faded, replaced by a lecherous smirk. ‘I think I can manage that.’ He turned Nina round and gave her backside a gentle slap to direct her back to the bed. ‘You were taking your top off, I think.’

‘Yeah?’ She peered back at him coquettishly over her shoulder as she undressed. ‘And so were you.’

‘So I was.’ He removed his T-shirt, revealing the bandages and bruises on his body. ‘Ow! Bloody hell,’ he muttered at a twinge of pain.

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, it only hurts when I breathe. Although . . . ’ He regarded the bed. ‘I think I might want to stay on the bottom.’

‘Lie down, then,’ said Nina. She grinned again. ‘I’ll do all the work this time. You deserve to relax.’

Eddie laughed as he took off the rest of his clothes, then climbed on to the mattress beside her and shuffled round to lie on his back. He stretched, nestling his head into the plump pillows. ‘Oh, God. This is a really bloody comfy bed.’

‘Hey!’ Nina protested. ‘Don’t you dare fall asleep.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Eddie with a huge smile. ‘That won’t happen until after we’re done.’

Despite everything she had been through in the previous few days, Nina felt extremely relaxed the following morning.

That said, it proved impossible for her not to feel a resurgence of nerves at a meeting in Interpol’s Caracas offices. The events at the Clubhouse were discussed, inevitably bringing back memories of her incarceration and torture by Stikes. Eddie noticed her tensing up and put a reassuring arm round her. But the mercenary was not the primary topic, nor even his late employer.

As well as Kit, several other Interpol officers were attending the meeting, along with a number of Venezuelan officials and a diplomat from the Colombian embassy, who had flown in with a representative of the US Drug Enforcement Administration: a craggy-faced man called Joe Baker. On a wallmounted screen was a still frame from de Quesada’s incriminating DVD, the drug lord frozen as he shook hands with Callas.

‘This man is called Francisco de Quesada,’ explained Baker, pointing at the screen. ‘Colombian drug lord, with an estimated personal fortune of over half a billion dollars. Most of the world’s cocaine is made from coca plants grown in Peru; after the Colombian government, with the DEA’s help as part of Plan Colombia, cracked down on production in Colombia itself, the drug lords switched to Peru as a manufacturing base. De Quesada controls most of the supply routes from Peru through the Colombian jungle into Venezuela, from where the cocaine is shipped to other countries.’

Eddie had a question. ‘If the Colombians cracked down, why don’t they just arrest this guy?’

The Colombian official answered, his air of annoyance suggesting this was a political sore point. ‘He has the best lawyers money can buy. American lawyers. Every time we have tried to bring de Quesada to trial, they got him off.’

‘Ah,’ said Nina scathingly. ‘An export Uncle Sam can be really proud of.’

Baker jerked a thumb at the screen. ‘We got him now, though. That DVD you recovered puts de Quesada square in the frame. He’s confessing on camera to high-end involvement in the international narcotics trade. Right now, the Colombians are putting a case together, and this time it doesn’t matter how many lawyers he hires or who he tries to pay off or threaten. With evidence like that, he’s going down.’

‘Won’t he just flee the country?’

‘He can try, Dr Wilde, he can try. But he’ll have one hell of a job even fleeing his house. He’s got a place on Colombia’s Caribbean coast, and we’re watching the only road, we got ships offshore, we got satellite surveillance . . . he ain’t going anywhere. And as soon as our Colombian friends get all the right names on the dotted lines, we’re gonna go in and get him.’ He nodded towards one of the Interpol agents, a man Nina and Eddie had met before; Walther Probst, a tactical liaison officer. ‘We’ll have a SWAT team made up of DEA, Interpol and Colombian forces. We’ll bag him.’

‘But,’ said Kit, standing to address the room, ‘he also has the treasures that were stolen from Paititi – the sun disc and the khipu. Considering their enormous value, the Venezuelan government understandably wants them back.’

‘I’m sure the Peruvian government’ll have its own opinions on who owns them,’ said Nina, raising some muted laughter.

‘That’s for the international courts to decide,’ said Kit with a smile, before becoming serious once more. ‘But for now, they’re worried the treasures could be damaged or destroyed during the raid.’

‘We’ll aim to minimise that possibility,’ said Baker, folding his arms.

‘Even so, there’s still a risk.’ He turned to Nina. ‘Which is why President Suarez has personally requested that Dr Wilde, as director of the IHA, oversees their safe recovery.’

Nina, who had been taking a sip of water, coughed it out. ‘Wait, what?’

‘Nice of him to tell us!’ Eddie hooted.

‘You won’t be going in with the SWAT team,’ Probst assured them. ‘Once we have secured de Quesada and the house, you will come in to locate and identify the artefacts.’

‘You don’t need us there for that. Big sun made of solid gold, thing like a hippie belt with loads of strings hanging off it. They should be a piece of piss to spot.’

‘All the same, it would be good to have your help,’ said Kit. ‘Interpol and the IHA started this operation together, so it makes sense for us to see it through to its conclusion.’

Eddie looked dubiously at the image of de Quesada. ‘What kind of fight is he likely to put up?’

‘His house usually has seven or eight bodyguards,’ said Baker, going to a laptop and tapping its keyboard. The freezeframe was replaced by an aerial photograph of a small island. Shaped somewhat like a kidney bean, it was cut off from the high cliffs of the mainland by a narrow, curving channel. The island was a sea-worn stack, sides almost vertical; its flat top was slightly lower than the nearby land, a bridge sloping down to it across the channel’s narrowest point. The island itself, however, was completely dominated by a palatial Spanish-style white house. ‘But the bridge is the only way on or off the island, apart from a jetty on the seaward side. So he either stands and fights, which means he’ll die, or he runs. And these drug lords ain’t big on self-sacrifice. So we think he’ll get his men to try to hold us back while he runs for a boat.’

‘What if he gets away?’ Nina asked.

Baker snorted faintly. ‘Doesn’t matter if he’s got the fastest boat in the world, Dr Wilde – it won’t get far with a fifty-calibre hole through its engine block. We’ll have snipers on the cliffs. Like I said, he ain’t going anywhere.’

Eddie had another question. ‘What about his bodyguards? What’s their armament?’

‘Based on the information we have,’ said Probst, ‘most likely assault rifles and shotguns, handguns, maybe grenades. But we will have superior numbers, snipers, tear gas – and the advantage of surprise.’

‘And when were you planning on doing all this?’ Nina demanded.

The Colombian official answered. ‘We are getting the warrants signed by judges now. The operation will take place tomorrow.’

‘Great,’ said Eddie. ‘You know, I was hoping for a bit of recovery time. Like a month. In Antigua.’

‘You’ll still be going to the Caribbean,’ Kit pointed out. ‘So will you come? Having the IHA there to verify the identity of the stolen artefacts will be very helpful.’

Nina looked at Eddie, who gave her an ‘I guess’ shrug. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘But we’re not going to be involved in the actual SWAT raid, okay? I’ve had enough of that kind of thing lately to last me a lifetime.’

‘We’ll take care of all that, Dr Wilde,’ said Baker confidently. ‘Don’t you worry.’

‘Famous last words,’ Eddie muttered.

After the Interpol meeting Nina and Eddie returned to the hotel, where Osterhagen was waiting.

‘I am glad you are back,’ he said excitedly, following them to their suite with a wad of papers clutched in his hand. Macy, who had been helping the German with his work, tagged along. ‘The khipu – you said you thought the knots are connected to the map at Paititi. I believe you are right. Loretta’s camera was recovered from Callas’s headquarters, and I have been examining the pictures of the map. I think the khipu is the key to deciphering the markings on it. With the map and the khipu, we can find the lost city!’

‘Well, that’s a bit of a problem,’ said Nina as she entered the suite. ‘A Colombian drug lord called de Quesada bought the khipu off Callas. Paid two million dollars for it.’

Osterhagen was horrified. ‘What? But – surely he couldn’t know its importance?’

‘He doesn’t,’ said Eddie. ‘The only reason he bought it was to piss off one of his rivals.’

‘Pachac,’ Nina added. ‘The guy who brought the helicopter to the military base.’ The German’s grim look told her that he remembered the murderous Peruvian all too well. ‘Seems that there’s bad blood between them. De Quesada bought the sun disc because he knew it would drive Pachac mad to know that he owned a symbol of the Inca empire. Same with the khipu.’

Osterhagen flopped down glumly on a sofa. ‘Then we cannot decipher the map.’

‘Not so fast, Doc,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s why we were just at Interpol. They’re going to raid his home – partly because he admitted to being a drug smuggler on national TV, but also because Suarez wants those Inca treasures back. I think he’s a lot more bothered about getting his hands on two tons of solid gold than the khipu, but they’ll be a package deal. We’ll get them both.’

‘ “We”?’ said Macy, surprised. ‘You’re going too?’

‘So it seems,’ Nina replied with a faint sigh. ‘They want someone from the IHA to take charge of the artefacts once they’ve been secured. Specifically, me.’

‘Huh. You’re not going to have to get all dressed up in body armour, are you?’

Eddie smirked, giving his wife’s body an exaggerated once-over. ‘I dunno, some women look really hot in combat gear . . . ’

Nina huffed. ‘Oh, God. Just when I think I know everything about you, you always come up with some new fetish! But,’ she went on, turning back to Osterhagen, ‘if everything goes to plan, we’ll have the khipu back in our possession soon.’

‘Excellent,’ he said, relieved. He held up his notes, which included colour printouts of the painted wall. ‘I think I have worked out how the knots on the khipu relate to the markings on the map. Once we have the khipu, it should, I hope, be quite straightforward to calculate the location.’

‘Can’t we just use the statues?’ Eddie asked. ‘I mean, the other half of the last one should be in El Dorado. You can just use your magic mojo to point to it.’

‘Not without knowing where to find another earth energy source,’ Nina reminded him. ‘We only know about Glastonbury, and we can’t triangulate a position without one. Unless you want me to wander around South America holding the statues out in front of me until they start glowing.’

‘I suppose. It’d be pretty funny to watch, though. So, we get the khipu back, work out the map, and then . . . ’

‘And then,’ said Nina, ‘we find El Dorado.’

26

Colombia

Francisco de Quesada leaned against the door frame, hoping the view would calm his frustration and anger. It wasn’t so much the scenery he was admiring – though the impossibly blue sweep of the Caribbean beyond the clifftop edge of his palacio’s infinity pool was certainly something to behold – as the occupants of the pool itself, a pair of stunningly beautiful women who had responded to his click of the fingers by entering a passionate, lip-locking embrace, making a show of unfastening each other’s bikini tops. There was normally nothing like a pair of twenty-year-old bisexual models to take his mind off life’s burdens.

Not today, though. The weight hanging over him was too heavy to ignore. Annoyed, he turned back to his guests, who were studiously attempting to ignore the display in the pool. ‘I don’t see why you can’t make this go away,’ he snapped. ‘You have done before – why not now?’

His visitors shifted uncomfortably, and not solely because they were wearing formal suits in the humid heat. ‘The thing is,’ said Corwin Bloom, the bald and doleful chief representative of the American law firm de Quesada had on permanent standby, ‘with all the previous charges against you, the evidence could be made out to be tainted and therefore inadmissible, or witnesses, ah . . . dealt with. But on this occasion you were seen by millions of people on national television making a deal with General Callas.’

‘That was in Venezuela, not Colombia. Surely that doesn’t count as admissible evidence?’

‘The DEA submitted it,’ said Bloom’s assistant, Alison Goldberg, a starchy young woman in black-rimmed glasses and stiletto heels. ‘Under the rules of Plan Colombia, evidence obtained by the DEA, no matter from where in the world, is admissible in Colombian narcotics-related cases.’

Bloom put down his briefcase on a table and opened it, handing a document to the drug lord. ‘This is a memo we, ah, obtained from within the Ministry of Justice, from the minister himself.’ De Quesada began to read it, his expression rapidly darkening as he flicked through the pages. ‘To summarise, they think they have you.’

The Colombian hurled the papers to the floor. ‘No one has me!’ he snarled, snapping his fingers angrily at a broad-shouldered bodyguard standing near a drinks cabinet. By the time de Quesada reached him, the man had poured a large glass of Scotch and soda filled with clinking ice cubes. He downed half the amber liquid in a single gulp, and crunched a cube between his teeth.

‘We also learned there is a plan in motion to take you into custody,’ said Goldberg.

De Quesada whirled on her. ‘And you didn’t tell me this the moment you came through my door?’ He looked in alarm at the bodyguard, who hurried away to alert his comrades.

‘They’re waiting for the final warrants to be signed,’ said Bloom. ‘We have a source inside the Ministry who will alert us as soon as this happens. You’ll have ample warning.’

‘Not if they’re already here.’ He crossed to a window and looked suspiciously out at the cliffs across the channel.

‘We didn’t see anyone when we arrived,’ said Goldberg.

‘No. You wouldn’t.’ De Quesada finished his drink, chewed another ice cube, then waved for the Americans to follow him. ‘Tell me what my options are.’

They entered a broad hall, the walls decorated with artworks old and new – and the khipu, pinned to a board like a giant bedraggled moth. ‘There is the usual ploy of dragging the matter out in court, of course,’ said Bloom. ‘Challenging of evidence and witnesses and so forth—’

‘I don’t want this to even get to court,’ de Quesada growled. ‘I meant, what are my options for leaving the country?’

‘Limited,’ Goldberg told him. ‘It would give the American government the excuse it needed to freeze your assets worldwide. And then there’s the issue of extradition . . .’ She tailed off as the Colombian went into a white-tiled room – and unzipped his fly.

‘What? Haven’t you ever seen a man take a piss before? Keep talking,’ he demanded. But both lawyers had been left speechless by the bizarre nature of his bathroom. Rather than a lavatory, the room housed a sunken square four feet to a side. Incredibly, set into its floor was the stolen sun disc. An unimaginable fortune in gold, a priceless cultural treasure . . . now acting as a urinal.

Hearing no further legal advice forthcoming, de Quesada looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh, this?’ he said, anger briefly diminishing as he took the opportunity to boast. ‘A little trinket I bought in Venezuela. I thought it would take weeks to arrive, but my new shipping company was very efficient. Now every time I take a piss, I’m pissing on the culture of my old friend Arcani Pachac! I may even send him a picture – although I doubt he has good cell reception in the mountains of Peru.’

‘Ah . . . quite,’ said Bloom, as de Quesada shook himself off and zipped up. ‘But on the subject of extradition—’ His phone trilled. ‘Excuse me.’

Now de Quesada was all business, watching intently as the lawyer listened. ‘Was that your man?’ he said as Bloom terminated the call.

‘I’m afraid so. The warrant has been signed.’

‘This way,’ the drug lord ordered, pushing past them and continuing down the hall.

Two of his men met the trio. ‘Jefe!’ said one. ‘I just talked to someone in the village. He said some trucks went down your road and haven’t come back.’

‘When?’

‘About two hours ago.’

De Quesada glared accusingly at the two lawyers. ‘I told you, we didn’t see anyone,’ Goldberg said, trying to conceal her sudden nervousness.

De Quesada whispered to the bodyguards, who nodded and jogged back to the room overlooking the infinity pool. ‘In here,’ the Colombian said, leading the Americans to a set of arched double doors. He opened them to reveal a large room that was a combination of luxurious lounge and office, leather armchairs and couches laid out before a black chrome desk with a top of polished granite. Along one wall was a bar with hundreds of different bottles arranged behind it – and above them a large, yet seemingly empty, aquarium.

Goldberg regarded the glass tank curiously, but de Quesada passed a second archway to the hall and went behind the bar to the shelves at its end. He pulled out one particular bottle – which only slid so far before stopping with a click. ‘My vault,’ he told the intrigued pair. ‘There are some documents I don’t want them to find, you understand?’

‘Perfectly,’ said Bloom.

‘Good.’ He swung the shelves away to reveal a small room hidden behind them. Goldberg tried to peer inside, but at his stare switched her attention back to the aquarium. ‘You like my pets?’ he asked. Both lawyers were puzzled, seeing nothing. ‘There, in the middle.’

Goldberg stepped behind the bar, finally spotting one of the tank’s occupants: a little yellow octopus, two of its suckered tentacles holding it to the transparent wall. She leaned closer, hesitantly tapping the glass. The octopus leapt away, turning a far brighter yellow with rings of black and vivid blue appearing all over its body. Eight limbs pulsing in unison, it shot towards the surface.

‘Don’t stand too close,’ said de Quesada. ‘It’s a blue-ringed octopus – one of the world’s deadliest creatures. If it bites you . . . you’ll die.’

‘The glass looks quite thick,’ she said, covering her brief shock with haughty indifference.

‘Maybe, but the tank has no top – and they can climb.’

She hurriedly retreated. De Quesada laughed harshly. ‘Now, here is what I want you to do,’ he said. ‘Wait on the bridge for them to arrive, and do not let them pass. Say you need to check the warrant, any legal shit you can think of, just hold them up for as long as you can.’

‘This . . . isn’t really what you hired us for,’ said Goldberg.

‘I hired you to keep me out of prison, and I pay you a lot of money to do it. So do it. Consider it part of your client service.’ The bodyguard entered, carrying Bloom’s briefcase. ‘Take your case and go. Keep them busy.’ When they didn’t move immediately, he barked: ‘Now!’

Affronted, Bloom collected his case and the lawyers departed. The bodyguard waited until they were gone, then went to the bar. ‘Did you do it?’ de Quesada asked.

‘Yes, jefe.’ He handed the drug lord a small remote control unit. ‘Everything is set.’

‘Good. Tell the others to arm up. And bring Alicia and Sylvie here – I want them as my last line of defence.’ A cruel smirk. ‘No man would dare shoot them.’ He returned to the hidden vault. ‘I have to destroy the hard drives. Get ready – they will be coming!’

‘The guy may be a criminal,’ admitted Nina, ‘but he’s got a gorgeous house.’

The combined force from Interpol, the Drug Enforcement Administration and the Colombian police – and the two representatives of the International Heritage Agency – was concealed amongst the trees along the clifftop, looking at the little island below. De Quesada’s villa had been impressive enough in photos, but in reality it was magnificent; white walls gleaming in the sunlight.

‘Nice taste in bodyguards, too,’ said Eddie, taking a closer look through binoculars.

Nina could guess at what – or whom – he was looking. ‘Give me those,’ she snapped, wresting the binoculars from his grip as the two young women emerged from the infinity pool and padded, still topless, into the building. ‘And I’m pretty sure they’re way below your “half the man’s age plus seven years” rule.’

Eddie grinned. ‘No harm in looking.’

‘There will be if I catch you doing it again.’ She panned along the house to the crossing. While it seemed solidly built, it was still merely a footbridge, too narrow to accommodate vehicles. The drug lord’s cars were kept in a garage on the mainland, outside which an SUV had stopped and disgorged a suited man and woman about twenty minutes earlier.

She moved her view back to the island. At each end of the bridge were tall and stout wooden poles, a cable that she guessed was a power line hanging between them. Near the far pole was the house’s main entrance – the doors of which suddenly opened. ‘Someone’s coming out.’

It was the suited couple. ‘De Quesada’s lawyers,’ said Baker.

‘They don’t look happy.’ The pair were in the midst of an agitated discussion.

‘I think I know why.’ Nina looked round to see Kit, holding several sheets of paper, and Probst slipping through the bushes. ‘This just came through over the mobile fax.’

Baker took the pages. ‘Outstanding.’

‘The warrant?’ Eddie asked.

‘Signed, sealed and delivered. We now have full authority to go in and get that son of a bitch. Okay, Mr Jindal, Dr Wilde, Mr Chase, wait here until we’re done. Walther, are the snipers covering the jetty?’

Probst nodded. ‘We can take out the boats any time.’

‘Great. Okay, time to kick ass . . . ’ He stopped, seeing that the lawyers had come to a standstill three-quarters of the way across the bridge. ‘Now what the hell are those two doing?’

The answer came as the man called out in American-accented Spanish. ‘Well, shit!’ exclaimed Baker.

‘What’s he saying?’ Eddie asked.

The DEA agent shook his head in disgust. ‘They want to talk to us. Guess they heard about the warrant.’

‘So much for the element of surprise,’ Nina said gloomily. ‘Now what do we do?’

Probst surveyed the house. ‘I don’t like it. It could be a trap.’

‘We outnumber them three to one,’ Baker said dismissively, ‘we’ve got an elevated position and superior firepower, and all their escape routes are cut off. That son of a bitch is just trying to buy time so he can destroy anything incriminating. Mr Cruz!’ he called. The head of the Colombian SWAT team, who had been standing beside a six-wheeled truck giving last-minute instructions to his men, hurried over. ‘You and four of your guys, come with me. We’ll see what these clowns have to say. Get the rest ready to move in. Walther, keep your guys on lookout.’

Cruz signalled to his unit, and four black-clad cops joined him. Baker summoned four more DEA agents, and the ten men, weapons at the ready, headed for the bridge. Probst and Kit moved away to organise the Interpol team.

‘Not keen on this,’ Eddie muttered.

‘You think it’s a trap too?’ asked Nina. The two lawyers were still waiting on the bridge.

‘Yeah, but . . . I don’t know what this arsehole’s got planned. And that worries me.’ He took the binoculars back from Nina and checked the villa once more.

Inside the house, de Quesada looked back at him through his own binoculars from behind a Venetian blind on the upper floor. One of his bodyguards had spotted movement in the trees. With their cover blown, the intruders were less concerned about secrecy.

Which could be their fatal mistake. ‘How many?’ he asked.

‘At least fifteen people,’ his bodyguard replied, hefting his M16 assault rifle. ‘Probably more.’

The drug lord clicked his tongue, not liking the odds even with his contingency plan ready to go. ‘They’ll be watching the boats . . .’ He stopped when he picked out a dash of contrasting colour amongst the greenery. A woman, her fiery red hair standing out clearly.

A familiar woman. ‘What’s she doing here?’ he asked himself, recognising Nina Wilde from their meeting at the Clubhouse. Why would an archaeologist be accompanying a police raid?

The answer was obvious. ‘Wait here and get ready to shoot,’ he ordered as he headed downstairs to the hall. Two more armed bodyguards lurked near the front door; he ignored them, instead going to one of the artworks.

The khipu. He plucked it from the board, then hurried back to his office, glancing into the bathroom as he passed. The sun disc was obviously far more valuable, almost certainly the main reason for Wilde’s presence, but unlike the khipu it could hardly be slipped into a pocket. Wilde had told him that the lengths of string were potentially worth millions to the right buyer; he might soon need the cash.

But first, he had to make sure he remained free. He entered his office, where he found the dark-haired Alicia and the blonde Sylvie waiting for him. He gave their naked breasts an appreciative look. ‘You know what to do?’

‘Yeah, babe,’ said Alicia, raising her imposing weapon: an AA-12 automatic shotgun, its twenty-round drum magazine making it look like a futuristic gangster’s Tommy gun. Sylvie was similarly armed, and both women’s wide-eyed, hyper expressions told him they had just snorted considerable amounts of confidence-boosting cocaine off the marble table. ‘We won’t let anyone in until you’re done.’

‘Good.’ He kissed her, then did the same to Sylvie before going through the hidden door.

It was a shame to lose such hot companions, he thought as he placed a small thermite block on top of the computer containing his financial records. But then, he could always find more.

A CCTV monitor showed him the bridge, Bloom and Goldberg still standing partway across it. As he watched, the cops finally revealed themselves, ten armed men trooping to the crossing.

He tugged out a tab to light the thermite’s fuse and retreated to the bar, shielding his eyes. The block ignited, sparks spitting as the matchbox-sized incendiary device almost instantly melted through the plastic case, the hard drive inside it and the shelf on which the computer was sitting, and finally made a sterling effort to burrow into the concrete floor.

The girls gave him worried looks, but he smiled reassuringly and, wafting away the smoke, returned to the vault. In an ideal world he would have closed the door to ensure total security, but the stench of vaporised plastic and metal was choking in the confined space.

Another look at the screen. The SWAT team was now on the bridge, marching to meet the lawyers.

He gathered up the items he needed – a clutch of passports, a flash drive containing Swiss bank account details, an encrypted cell phone, a wad of high-denomination banknotes of assorted currencies, and the khipu – and sealed them in a watertight Ziploc bag, then held the remote. Any second now . . .

‘Are you with the DEA?’ asked Bloom, blocking the SWAT team’s path.

Baker tapped the huge DEA logo emblazoned across his body armour. ‘What gave it away?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘Let us through.’

‘You’re not taking another step across this bridge until we see a warrant,’ Goldberg said firmly. ‘We have reason to believe that our client’s rights are being violated by the issuing of an illegal search order, and we demand to inspect said order before we allow you on his property.’

‘In accordance with the Colombian legal code,’ added Bloom.

Baker looked irritably to Cruz. ‘Is that right?’ The Colombian nodded. ‘Well, good thing I brought these.’ He thrust the faxed documents at the lawyer. ‘Read fast, ’cause one way or another, we’re crossing this bridge.’

Bloom handed the papers to his partner. ‘I need my reading glasses,’ he said, opening his briefcase.

It contained a laptop, several folders of documents, assorted pens and a spectacle case, for which Bloom reached . . . before he registered something extra amongst his belongings. A booksized block of a dull yellow putty-like substance, to which was taped a small electronic device, a red light glowing on it.

He stared at it in bewilderment. ‘What—’

The brick of C-4 plastic explosive detonated.

27

In the vault, de Quesada pushed a button on the remote, and watched the image of the bridge – and the twelve people on it – vanish in a flash of light. An explosion rattled the building. He smiled. ‘Now that’s what I call client service.’

He pulled a cord on the back wall. Another concealed doorway opened, revealing a rocky passage descending steeply into the island’s heart. He started down it. Below, the sound of waves echoed through a large enclosed space.

Eddie and Nina raised their heads. The bridge had been obliterated, only truncated stumps left at each end. The two power poles rocked, the cable flapping between them like a skipping rope.

Of the people on the bridge, nothing remained but a red tint to the drifting smoke.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Eddie gasped. Half the assault force had been wiped out in a single blow.

And the other half was under attack. Crackles of automatic gunfire came from the island. Nina shrieked and ducked again as bullets thwacked the vegetation around them.

‘It’s suppressing fire,’ Eddie realised. The drug lord’s men were trying to force the surviving SWAT members to stay down while they escaped.

Probst, with three members of his team by the trucks, had reached the same conclusion. ‘Sniper unit!’ he shouted into his radio. ‘Take out the boats!’

Further along the cliff, beyond the broken bridge, two more men lay in the concealment of a bush, their monstrous Barrett M82 rifles on bipods before them. While the huge weapons were generally used in a sniper role, they were also often applied to anti-materiel tasks; a single .50-calibre round could destroy the engine of any unarmoured vehicle, and quite a few armoured ones.

The snipers already had targets. A jetty, reached by a zigzag path down the island’s less steep seaward side, had three speedboats moored along it. The first man targeted the outboard motor of the boat closest to shore. Even with the waves causing the vessel to bob in the water, at a range of less than three hundred metres it was a simple shot. ‘Firing,’ he said, warning his companion to brace himself as he pulled the trigger.

A burst of flame eight feet long exploded from the Barrett’s muzzle. Looking back through his scope, the sniper saw a hole through the engine wide enough to see blue water. The speedboat wasn’t going anywhere.

His companion lined up the next shot . . .

A new sound over the bursts of fire from the house – a low, flat whoosh—

They looked round – and an RPG-7 round struck the cliff between them, tearing both men apart.

Eddie grimly watched the RPG’s smoke trail drift away. The snipers’ first shot had revealed their position, and de Quesada’s men had responded with immediate overkill.

‘Keep down,’ he told Nina, crawling through the bushes to Kit and Probst. ‘They got your snipers,’ he told the Interpol officers, who reacted with shock. ‘They’ll be going for the boats.’

‘I’ll tell the Coast Guard to intercept,’ said Kit, going to one of the group’s Ford Expedition SUVs.

‘How far away are they?’ Eddie asked.

‘There’s a cutter three kilometres off the coast.’ The Indian began speaking into the radio.

‘Why the fuck are they so far out?’

‘We didn’t want to alert de Quesada,’ said Probst in disgust. ‘For all the good that did.’ He turned to the other men. ‘We have to make sure nobody gets away. Get the rest and go along the cliffs. But keep spread out – they might have another rocket.’

‘Anything I can do?’ Eddie asked as the team moved off.

‘I’m not sure there is even anything we can do,’ the German replied, following his men.

‘Great,’ Eddie muttered. He checked the trucks in the hope of finding a spare weapon, but found only the now worthless tear-gas launchers.

Kit finished his radio call. ‘The Coast Guard are on their way.’

‘How long?’

‘Six or seven minutes before they’re close enough to take any kind of action.’ He drew a pistol. ‘Stay here with Nina. I’ll be with Walther.’

‘Be careful, okay?’ said Eddie.

A humourless smile. ‘I’m not wearing body armour. I will be very careful!’ He hurried after Probst.

Eddie watched them go, frustrated. There had to be something he could do. But with the bridge destroyed, there was no way on or off the island except by boat . . .

Something about that troubled him, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. He returned to Nina. ‘Have you seen anything?’

She shook her head. ‘After that rocket fired, all the guys at this end took off.’

‘Going for the boats.’ He considered that. ‘Which . . . doesn’t make any fucking sense.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This de Quesada blew up the bridge deliberately, so the only way to escape is by boat – but the path down to them’s way too exposed. He must have known we’d try to cover ’em.’ As if to illustrate his point, more gunfire started, this time from the shore. The remaining members of the SWAT team had reached positions from where they could see the path down to the jetty, and opened fire. A scream echoed off the cliffs: one of de Quesada’s bodyguards had been hit. The drug lord’s men shot back, dust and chipped stones spitting from the clifftops.

‘So, what, you think he’s using his own men as a decoy?’ Nina said dubiously.

‘The guy’s a drug lord – he’d probably use his own grandma as a human shield. He wants us looking at that end of the island, so he can do something at this end.’

‘Like what?’

‘I dunno. Maybe he’s not really leaving – he’s just going to hide in a panic room until everyone’s gone.’ He regarded the house – then stood.

‘Get down!’ Nina yelped, yanking at the sleeve of his battered jacket. ‘They’ll see you.’

‘There’s nobody there. They’re all by the boats to give de Quesada time to do whatever he’s doing. I need to get over there before he does it.’

‘And how are you going to do that?’ Even at its narrowest point, the channel was still over fifty feet across. ‘The bridge has gone, and I don’t think high-diving into the sea to swim across would be a good idea!’

He pointed. ‘That cable. I can slide down it.’

‘Are you kidding? It’s probably got ten thousand volts running through it!’

‘Then I won’t touch it.’

‘If you don’t touch it, how are you going to slide down it?’

Rather than answer, he hurried back to the parked vehicles and climbed into the truck’s bed. As well as carrying the Colombian SWAT team, it had also transported the weapons, including the Barretts. But it wasn’t their now empty cases Eddie was interested in; rather, the ratchet straps used to secure them. ‘Here we go,’ he said as Nina arrived, detaching one. It was six feet long, made from a heavy-duty polyester. ‘It’s insulated, so I can chuck it over the wire and use it as a zipline.’

Nina wasn’t impressed. ‘And if the line doesn’t hold?’

‘Let’s not worry about that, eh?’ He headed for the stub of the bridge.

She followed. ‘Oh, you know me, I worry about everything. Especially you!’

Eddie reached the pole supporting the power line, looped the strap round the pole and held the ends tightly together. ‘Okay, stay low, just in case I’m wrong and there’s still someone over there. Once I’m across, use the radio in the truck to tell Kit what I’m doing. Back soon.’

‘How?’ she demanded. ‘You’re going to slide up the line?’

‘I’ll think of something.’ He kissed her, then, using the strap for support, climbed until he reached the metal pegs that acted as a ladder. Warily eyeing the power line on its ceramic insulators, he scooted round to the pole’s seaward side.

It was his first clear view of the channel far below. Waves churned and frothed, and the rocks poking from the water suggested it was not especially deep. High-diving definitely wasn’t a good idea. The open sea was visible at the far end to his left; to the right, it curved out of sight towards the jetty. Gunfire was still being exchanged, but less frequently than before – the two sides seemed caught in a stand-off.

Which wouldn’t last long. Beyond the island, Eddie saw an approaching ship: the Colombian Coast Guard. The drug lord’s bodyguards would soon be forced to make a break for the boats, or be trapped.

Which suited Eddie. Their attention would be focused well away from him. He hooked the strap over the power line, applying experimental pressure. It seemed secure. Nina watched anxiously from the trees; he gave her a thumbs-up.

A deep breath, and he shifted his weight to the strap. The line pulled tight, but still held. He fixed his eyes on the house, not looking at the dizzying drop. ‘High voltage,’ he muttered. ‘Okay, let’s slide . . .’

He threw himself off the pole.

The cable twanged and juddered with the extra load as he slid down it. The cliff-edge rolled past beneath his feet, nothing below for over a hundred feet. The island loomed ahead . . .

The strap rasped against the cable. He slowed . . . and stopped.

Ten feet short of the far side.

‘Shit!’ He tried to jolt free, but the line wasn’t steep enough for him to overcome the strap’s friction. Another futile jerk, then he changed tactics. Legs together, he brought them gently back, then kicked sharply. He jerked forward by about a foot. Another kick, and another—

The insulator on the pole ahead sheared apart.

He dropped.

Nina barely contained a scream as the line gave way, Eddie plunging towards the water – then the sagging line snapped taut again. His fall gave him a boost of speed.

Too much speed.

All thoughts of concealment gone, she ran to the edge as he hurtled helplessly at the cliff.

Eddie whipped up his feet just before he hit the rock wall. The collision was a hammer-blow against his soles, crashing up through his knees and hips. The cable shook, the strap squirming in his grip.

Another jolt – and he fell again, dropping by a foot before the line jerked tight once more. The power cable ran from the pole to a transformer on the villa – and one of the brackets securing it had just broken. His weight was now being taken by the insulator on the mainland side and the transformer’s connector, neither of which were designed to support the extra load.

Even through the strap, he felt the cable straining—

He swung sideways and lunged to grab an outcropping with one hand – just as the connector gave way. The strap flapped free, spiralling towards the churning waters. The drooping power line hung so close that he could hear the faint hum of current flowing through the cable.

If it sparked, the shock would kill him.

Very carefully, he scraped his boots against the rock until he found a toehold. He edged sideways, free hand clawing blindly for purchase. A crack in the cliff; he squeezed his fingertips inside, pulling away from the deadly line.

Another stretch, and another, and he struggled upwards to the stub of the bridge. Once he had a secure hold, he paused to catch his breath, then climbed to level ground.

Nina watched, relieved beyond measure, as Eddie waved to her before jogging to the villa’s front door. She sagged against the pole, looking at the waters below as she gathered herself—

Something moved.

It took her a moment to realise what; at first, it seemed as though the rock face just above the waterline was morphing like plastic. A blink, and the bizarre sight made sense. It wasn’t rock, but something made to look like rock, slowly being pulled away to reveal darkness behind it. Metal tracks led from the shadows into the sea.

What the hell was going on?

De Quesada shut off an electric winch, allowing himself a moment of pride as he admired his emergency escape route. Nobody else knew of it, except the men who had built it – and they were no longer able to tell others, or indeed do anything other than decompose.

The cave below was naturally hard enough to spot, in perpetual shadow amongst the cliff’s folds, and his camouflage had made it almost invisible. The entrance was concealed by a heavy tarpaulin hanging down like a stage curtain, painted in browns and greys to match the surrounding rock.

Hidden inside was the vehicle that would take him to safety; not a boat, but a Cessna Skyhawk floatplane, the little white-and-yellow aircraft perched on a set of rails down which it would slide into the channel. From there, he would turn west while his attackers were distracted by the boats at the island’s northeastern end, taking off as soon as he reached open ocean. He would leave Colombian airspace within fifteen minutes. By the time the authorities in Panama had been alerted, he would have already reached a safe house, where he would change identities before sneaking out of the country.

He descended a ladder to the cave floor and put the bag containing his belongings in the cockpit before starting the pre-flight checks for the plane’s short voyage.

Eddie found himself in a broad hall, paintings on the walls. No sign of anybody, but he was still cautious, moving quietly.

Shimmering reflected ripples through one door told him that the room beyond opened out on to the infinity pool; an open arch to his right led into what was apparently a lounge, a bar visible through the doorway. He edged towards it. As he approached, he picked up a smell, faint but distinctive: chlorinated water. The girls from the pool?

Back against the wall, he moved closer, listening for movement inside the room . . .

Something crunched under his foot.

Rock salt, almost invisible where it had been scattered over the pale marble. A simple but effective warning system.

He backed up—

Boom!

A hole almost a foot across was blown through the wall just in front of him, spraying him with fragmented plaster and wood. He stumbled in shock, slipping on the hard floor and landing on his backside – as a second hole exploded right above his head. ‘Shit!’ he yelled, scrambling backwards.

The shooter had anticipated his retreat, another two holes bursting open behind him.

He slithered round, rock salt digging into his palms, and launched himself like a sprinter past the archway.

His brief glance into the room told him plenty. He had expected to see a gunman, but it was actually two gunwomen, the topless water babes from the pool, blasting away at him – Jesus, with AA-12s – as he hurtled past the entrance. One woman was behind the bar, the other beside a couch. Shotgun fire ripped more holes out of the wall in his wake. There was a mahogany door at the end of the hall – wherever it led, it had to be safer than this—

He passed a second open archway and reached the door.

Locked!

Both AA-12s swung to track him—

He dived into the lounge, slamming against the back of a leather armchair. Shots shredded the expensive piece of furniture as the women kept firing. Eddie had instinctively been counting shots – each AA-12’s drum magazine held twenty rounds, and they were rapidly chewing through them, but they would reduce his cover to matchwood long before they ran dry. He needed something more solid.

A granite desk, between him and the killer bimbos. Not ideal, but all he had—

The armchair thumped against him under the force of another shot. Eddie pushed hard at the disintegrating seat, sliding it across the room. Another round blew off an entire corner of the backrest. He kept pushing – then grabbed the chair’s base and bowled it at the dark-haired woman as he rolled under the table and strained to tip it on its side. It crashed down with a bang.

The brunette shrieked and leapt away as the tumbling chair bounced past her. The blonde behind the bar kept firing. The granite slab took the impact – but Eddie, pressed against it, still felt as though he was being kicked in the back with each shot.

‘Go round it and shoot him!’ the blonde yelled. Another shot – and the granite cracked, a plate-sized chunk barely missing Eddie as he jerked sideways.

A slap of feet as the brunette moved. He was running out of time—

The quickest of glances through the broken section of desk revealed a fishtank set into the wall behind the blonde. He grabbed the hunk of granite and hurled it with all his strength.

The blonde ducked as the stone flew over her and hit the glass – which shattered, bursting outwards. She was knocked down by the deluge, shards and marine life hitting her near-naked body.

Eddie was already running. If he could disarm her before she recovered . . .

A horrific scream filled the room. He dived as the blonde’s AA-12 barked again and again, her finger clenched on the trigger and firing off its remaining rounds on full auto. Shredded debris spat across the room. The screaming continued, Eddie wondering what the hell was happening. Maybe she was really fish-phobic . . .

He got his answer as he scrambled behind the bar. Clamped to the woman’s right breast was a small octopus, patterns on its body pulsing furiously as it bit her again and again.

The shotgun clicked, the drum empty. The blonde’s movements were already weakening as the deadly paralytic flowed through her system, her screams fading to choked gurgles.

‘Sylvie!’ shrieked the dark-haired woman in genuine anguish. She swung her AA-12 at the bar and fired. ‘You bastard, you killed her!’

Bottles and glasses exploded above Eddie. ‘Jesus!’ Ricocheting pellets rained down on him like embers.

The firing stopped. Twenty rounds gone. Eddie vaulted the bar. The woman was still uselessly pulling the trigger, in her anger only belatedly realising she was out of ammo. She tried to club Eddie with the shotgun, but he easily dodged the blow. There was a time and place for chivalry, but this wasn’t it: he punched her in the face, knocking her down on the couch.

He grabbed her by the throat. ‘Where’s de Quesada?’

‘Fuck you!’ she spat.

He squeezed harder. ‘Where is he?’

‘Go fuck yourself!’ Eddie pulled back his fist, then thought better of it and released her, hurrying back to the bar. With a brief chill of revulsion, he took hold of the octopus by its body and plucked it off Sylvie’s breast. It squirmed, suckers clinging to his skin. The little monster writhing angrily, he went back to the couch. The other woman struggled upright; he pushed her down again and held the octopus just above her face.

Tentacles lashed out and stuck to her, the creature’s venom-filled beak snapping less than an inch from her cheek. She shrieked. ‘Tell me where he is, or I’ll let it bite you!’ Eddie shouted.

‘In there!’ she wailed, pointing at some shelves behind the bar. ‘He’s in there!’

She was too terrified to lie, Eddie decided. He pulled the octopus away and tossed it across the room into the tank’s remaining water – then punched the woman again, knocking her out. ‘Sucker,’ he said as he went to the shelves.

Close up, they were revealed as a disguised door, the sharp stench of melted plastic coming from inside. No way to know if de Quesada was armed and waiting within. He yanked it open, ready to dive—

The room was empty. Smoke belched from the smouldering remains of a computer, a hole burned right through it. Thermite; de Quesada had been in here to destroy anything compromising on his hard drive.

He wasn’t here now, though. But he was sure the woman hadn’t lied – and why would she and her friend have been defending an empty room?

A panel not quite flush with the wall, a cord attached . . .

He pulled it. The panel swung outwards, revealing a rocky passage leading downwards.

The coughing grind of an engine came from somewhere far below.

‘Oh, you are not doing a fucking runner after all this,’ Eddie growled, ducking through the opening.

Nina also heard the noise. Eddie had been right – the drug lord was using his own men as a decoy while he escaped in a hidden boat.

Only it wasn’t a boat that slid down the rails, but a light aircraft, riding on elongated pontoons. It reached the water’s edge, a brief snarl of power to the propeller pulling it into the channel. A door opened and the pilot clambered along a pontoon to detach the runner that had guided it down the tracks.

Even from high above, Nina recognised him. De Quesada.

Descending through the narrow tunnel, Eddie dropped on to a ledge. He was high up in a large cave, its mouth opening into the channel. A glance through a wide crack in the rock revealed the source of the noise: a floatplane bobbing on the water outside. De Quesada ducked beneath the rear fuselage and hopped from one float to the other, crouching to unfasten something from it. As soon as the drug lord finished whatever he was doing, he would be able to escape.

He had to be stopped.

A piece of equipment was bolted to the rock wall – an electric winch, hooked to a painted tarpaulin that had been pulled away from the cave mouth. Eddie checked the rope. Brightly coloured marine line, strong and hard-wearing.

He looked back outside. De Quesada was returning to the cockpit.

Eddie unhooked the rope from the tarp, then switched on the winch, reversing it to unspool the line. He looked back through the opening. Below, the Colombian climbed into the plane. ‘Come on, come on!’ he snarled, tugging at the rope. He needed more slack—

The engine revved. Out of time.

Pulling the line after him, Eddie leapt from the crevice, aiming to land on the fuselage—

The rope pulled tight, stopping him short. He hit the wing’s trailing edge and fell backwards, landing hard on the tail of the port pontoon.

De Quesada, startled by the unexpected impact, turned and saw the stowaway. He jammed the throttle forward, the propeller screaming to full power as he steered the plane down the channel.

Eddie flailed, about to slip off the float . . .

His foot caught the rearmost strut connecting the pontoon to the bottom of the fuselage. He used the tenuous hold as leverage to sit up. The winch was still unspooling the rope – there was just enough slack for him to reach the support.

He lunged, clanking the hook on to the strut—

The line went taut again with a whipcrack. The plane jolted, but didn’t slow – it was now unwinding the rope from the winch reel. Eddie dropped to keep his head clear of it. If his plan worked, when the line ran out it would either bring the plane to a stop, or rip out the strut, making it too dangerous for de Quesada to risk taking off.

The Skyhawk headed for the open ocean beyond the cliffs on each side. It picked up speed—

The reel reached its end.

For an instant it held . . . then the entire winch was torn from the wall, flying out of the crack and splashing down in the water.

The plane lurched, pitching Eddie into the sea.

Churning wake filled his nostrils, choking him. The Cessna surged away. He kicked, trying to get his head above the surface.

Something brushed his legs.

The rope—

A loop closed round his ankle, the weight of the winch pulling it tight – and he was dragged along by the plane, bouncing helplessly through the waves.

28

Nina watched in horror as her husband was hauled along behind the floatplane. The Seahawk accelerated, but was still a long way short of its sixty-four knot takeoff speed in the confined channel.

It had to be stopped. But how?

The waterway narrowed just before its end . . .

She ran back to the trucks and scrambled into the lead SUV. The key was in the ignition; she turned it, the big V8 roaring in response. Into drive, apply the gas—

The Expedition surged forward, flattening bushes and saplings as Nina turned to follow the plane. A small tree tumbled with a crack of shattering wood – and she was at the cliff, the drop looming. She swerved to drive along it, the right front wheel thumping over the ragged edge before finding solid ground. Craning her neck, she saw the floatplane was ahead of her – with Eddie skittering in its wake.

She accelerated. Past thirty – and gaining. The Expedition crashed over rocks and roots, slamming her against the door. Ignoring the pain, Nina stayed focused on the cliff ahead – and the plane below. She was almost level with the aircraft. Forty, and the 4×4 was airborne for a moment as it hit a bump, smashing down more shrubs as it landed.

Past the plane, but the end of the channel was just ahead—

Nina opened the door and jammed the steering wheel hard to the right as she threw herself out.

The Expedition shot over the edge and plunged towards the water.

De Quesada adjusted the rudder to keep the Cessna in the centre of the channel. The cliffs were far enough apart to accommodate the Skyhawk’s ten metre wingspan, but after having someone jump on his plane, he didn’t need any more close calls—

An SUV fell from the sky directly ahead and hit the water with a colossal eruption of spray.

‘Mierda!’ he shrieked, yanking back the throttle and applying full rudder to swing round it. But the vehicle was buried nose-down in the mud beneath the shallow water, blocking his escape route.

The only way out was back the way he had come. Keeping the rudder hard over, he reapplied power in pulses, swinging the plane around to reverse course.

A man was in the water, directly in his path.

Eddie gasped for breath, shaking water from his eyes. The rope was still looped round his leg, coils bobbing on the surface around him. He reached down to untangle it, looking for the plane.

It was powering towards him.

Nina had crashed through a stand of bushes to a soft, if messy, splashdown in a glutinous pool of mud. Bruised, face cut, she dragged herself from the mire and staggered to the cliff edge.

Her plan had worked. She had blocked the exit from the narrow canyon, forcing the plane to stop . . . but it had turned round and was now heading straight for Eddie.

It accelerated, about to mow him down—

Eddie abandoned his attempt to untangle himself and dropped underwater, kicking downwards. The float’s keel bashed against his foot as it passed just inches above him in the shallow channel.

He surfaced, heart pounding – then realised the danger was far from over as the colourful line skimmed sinuously past him, still hooked to the strut. He grabbed the rope as it jerked into motion, friction burning his palms.

But at least now he wasn’t a helpless dead weight. He pulled himself along the rope towards the float.

Something yanked hard on his entangled leg – the winch. It had sunk when the plane stopped, and was now being towed along behind again. Eddie grimaced, but kept reeling himself in. He was almost level with the Cessna’s tail, the float just feet away.

The cave passed by to his left, the channel ahead curving round the island. Over the engine’s roar he heard gunshots echoing from the cliffs.

Despite the best efforts of Probst and his team, two of the bodyguards had reached a speedboat and started it. The cops concentrated their fire on the vessel as it moved from the jetty - but this allowed another two thugs to reach the bottom of the path and find cover, shooting back.

Kit ducked as bullets smacked into the cliff in front of him. He wiped away grit and opened his eyes – to see the floatplane approaching.

Probst spotted it too. ‘De Quesada, it must be!’ He swung round his rifle and opened fire.

‘No!’ said Kit, batting the weapon upwards. ‘You’ll hit Eddie!’ He pointed at the man who had just pulled himself on to one of the floats.

Probst swore in German, then shouted to the others: ‘Don’t shoot the plane! Chase is aboard!’

‘He’ll get away!’ Cruz protested.

Kit looked out to sea. The Coast Guard vessel was coming in at speed. ‘Forget the speedboats – tell them to block him before he can take off!’

Clinging to the float, Eddie winced as bullets struck the plane - then the barrage stopped. Hoping that meant he had been seen, he hooked an elbow round the diagonal brace connecting the float to the wing and freed his leg from the rope. It whipped away as he released it, the heavy winch still acting like an anchor.

He saw the jetty ahead, one of the speedboats moving away.

Into the plane’s path.

De Quesada had seen it too. The engine note rose, the wing flaps clunking to their full extent as he tried to give the plane as much lift as possible.

Eddie moved forward and briefly raised his head to glance into the cabin. He was surprised to see the khipu in a plastic bag on the passenger seat, but was more interested in the drug lord. The Colombian was concentrating on getting the plane into the air.

He advanced again, reaching for the door handle . . .

Wind whistled through a bullet hole in the cabin roof. Ten centimetres over, and the round would have struck de Quesada himself. Blessing his good fortune, he looked round to see where else the plane had been hit . . .

The top of a head, short dark hair fluttering in the wind, was visible through a window. Edging towards the passenger-side door.

Jaw set, de Quesada gripped the control yoke tightly with one hand, his other clenching into a fist . . .

Eddie pulled the door open, thrusting himself into the cramped cabin – and was punched hard in the face.

Caught completely by surprise, he toppled backwards, clawing for a handhold but only managing to snatch up the bag on the passenger seat. With nothing to support himself, he fell. . .

His empty hand caught the rope just as the drag of the waves snatched him from the float. He slid back down the line. Even wet, it burned his skin again before he managed to get a grip with his other hand, using a corner of the large bag as a makeshift glove to protect his palm. He hung on tightly, gasping in the spray.

The spray suddenly stopped as the Cessna took off.

‘Oh, shiiiiit!’ Eddie yelled as he was pulled from the water. He was heading into the sky – but if he let go of the rope, he would slam into the speedboat directly ahead like a torpedo.

The men in the boat were forced to duck as the Skyhawk roared barely a foot above. One realised it was trailing something and raised his head to see what—

Eddie pulled up both feet and kicked the bodyguard in the face, backflipping him out of the boat in a spray of blood and teeth.

Behind him, the rope rasped over the speedboat’s side—

The winch smashed through the hull – and snagged. The boat flipped over, flinging the other man screaming into the sea, and landed upside down, carving a great swathe out of the ocean as it was dragged behind the floatplane.

The extra weight threw the Cessna out of control. It yawed sideways as the boat pulled it back down.

Eddie hit the waves again, this time managing to stay upright and holding his legs out straight in front of him to use his feet as impromptu waterskis. Each crest pummelled him as he was pulled along.

He saw the Coast Guard cutter looming ahead. The Cessna levelled, then regained height. The rope tightened. In another second, he too would be airborne—

He let go.

Arms windmilling, Eddie skied along the water for over a hundred feet, finally losing his balance and falling over. He skipped like a stone, bouncing once, twice, before hitting the cutter’s side with a thunk.

Above, de Quesada had been forced to roll the Cessna almost on its side to avoid a crash, shooting between the cutter’s elevated bridge and radar mast with less than a foot of clearance. He straightened with an exultant whoop, turning the plane towards Panamanian airspace—

The speedboat, still bounding along at the end of the rope, collided with the cutter.

The Coast Guard boat rolled with the impact – but the plane fared worse. The float was ripped away – along with a chunk of the wing at the top of the support brace and a large section of the fuselage floor.

De Quesada screamed as he suddenly found himself with nothing but open air beneath his feet. The yoke went slack, control cables severed. The ailerons drooped, sending the crippled aircraft inexorably towards the glittering water—

It smashed into the sea at over eighty knots. The impact crushed the damaged fuselage like a beer can, impaling de Quesada on the control yoke. Fuel lines ruptured, avgas gushing over hot metal. What was left of the Skyhawk exploded in a flash of orange fire and oily black smoke.

Eddie surfaced beside the cutter, broken bits of boat raining around him. He spotted the plastic bag containing the late drug lord’s belongings floating nearby and swam to collect it before shouting up to the deck. ‘Oi! Man overboard!’

One of the boat’s stunned crew peered down at him, then tossed a knotted line over the side. Eddie clambered up. The Cessna’s burning remains were strewn along the water in the distance. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said to the crewman. ‘That’s the last time I fly on a no-frills airline.’

The villa’s interior was every bit as expensive as its exterior suggested, but one room stood out above all others. Nina gazed down at the golden sun disc set into the bathroom floor. ‘Unbelievable,’ she said, half in amazement, half in disgust. ‘Spending fifty million dollars on one of the most incredible Inca relics ever discovered . . . and then doing this with it?’

‘If you’ve got more money than you can ever spend, I suppose you get daft with it eventually,’ said Eddie, drying his hair with one of de Quesada’s towels. After his rescue, the Coast Guard ship had landed at the island, and the surviving members of the drug lord’s gang had surrendered. The remaining speedboat had been used to ferry Nina and the SWAT team from the mainland. ‘So, we found the sun disc, and I got the khipu off el druggio. Plus we saved the world the cost of the bastard’s trial. Job done, I think.’

‘Is the khipu okay?’

‘Far as I know. It was sealed in a bag with a bunch of other stuff – passports, cash, stuff like that. Kit’s checking through it all.’

‘And are you okay?’

He patted his jeans. ‘Bit damp, still. Banged-up, shot at, the usual. Nothing too serious.’ In truth, one knee had a searing ache from his impact with the cliff and the friction burns on his palms still stung, but he covered the discomfort. ‘What about you?’

Nina’s hand went to the Band-Aid one of Probst’s men had applied to a cut on her face. ‘I’m okay. Just had a scratchy landing when I bailed out of that truck. But it was pretty muddy, which broke the fall.’

‘You’re lucky you didn’t break the rest of you,’ Eddie said. ‘It was a bloody stupid risk.’

‘Oh, kettle, pot!’ she snapped. ‘And if I hadn’t done it, de Quesada would have gotten away – and you would have been dragged along behind his plane like a banner advertising balding Englishmen.’

‘The difference is, this kind of stuff is what I do.’

‘No, it isn’t! Not any more. You work for the United Nations now, not a stunt troupe. Every time I watch you doing something like this, I almost have a heart attack because . . .’ Her voice fell. ‘Because I’m scared that I’m about to watch you die.’

‘I’m not gonna die, okay?’ he said firmly. ‘Just ’cause I don’t bounce as much as I used to doesn’t mean I’ll smash like Humpty bastard Dumpty if I take a bit of a fall.’

‘There’s a difference between a bit of a fall and a hundredfoot drop off a cliff,’ Nina pointed out. ‘And when people are actively trying to kill you . . . ’

‘You’d think they’d learn,’ Eddie snorted. ‘Anyone who tries to kill me gets fucked up.’

‘Who’s trying to kill you?’ Kit asked, appearing in the doorway.

‘Nobody at the moment, thank God,’ said Nina. She gave Eddie a look that promised the discussion was not over, then turned to the Interpol officer. ‘Have you searched the rest of the house?’

‘Yes. Some of his other artworks are on the CPCU’s list of stolen items, although nothing on the scale of that.’ He indicated the sun disc. ‘And the bag Eddie recovered contained a phone with a list of de Quesada’s contacts around the world – that should be very useful.’ His optimistic look clouded. ‘I just wish it hadn’t cost twelve of the good guys’ lives to get it.’

‘Almost thirteen,’ Nina said quietly. Eddie decided to ignore her.

‘There’s another thing,’ Kit said. ‘Eddie, can you take a look at something?’

‘What is it?’ asked Nina.

‘Just . . . something Eddie might be able to identify with his military experience. Nina, can you photograph the sun disc so we can send pictures to Interpol and the UN, please?’ He handed her a digital camera.

She realised Kit was being evasive, but nevertheless took the camera. ‘What about the khipu?’

‘It’s with de Quesada’s other items. You can examine it as soon as we’ve finished checking them.’

‘Okay . . .’ She exchanged curious looks with her husband as Kit led him from the room.

‘So what’ve you found?’ Eddie asked as they walked down the hall.

‘It was in de Quesada’s office, among his papers.’ Kit stopped outside the arched doorway, glancing almost furtively into the room to make sure the other agents were occupied before taking something from a pocket. ‘Here.’

Eddie took it: a plastic evidence bag, containing a business card. ‘What’s so special . . . ’ he began – then he read it. He said nothing for several moments.

‘It’s . . . it is your father’s, isn’t it?’ Kit asked, breaking the silence.

‘Yeah,’ said Eddie, voice flat. ‘Yeah, it is.’ The card was identical to the one his father had given Nina, which had been taken from her by Stikes. It definitely wasn’t the same card, though, this one pristine and uncreased. ‘Think I’ll have to have words . . . ’

29

Bogotá

Larry Chase poured himself a whisky from the minibar, then sat back in an armchair and took a drink, the warm glow as the spirit went down his throat adding to his sense of satisfaction. Not a bad few days’ work, considering the ridiculously tight schedule. But for the amount of money on offer – which was now in the company’s bank account, as promised – he would have been an idiot to turn it down.

So the clients had hardly been savoury. So what? In his line of work, that was often a given. He was simply providing a service. The seller had an item at point A; the buyer wanted it at point B as quickly – and quietly – as possible. That was all it was, just business.

He had to admit that he was quite proud of himself. Getting something that weighed two tons out of Venezuela, just before the country exploded, and into Colombia had called upon all his years of moving through the more slippery lanes of international shipping, and even necessitated calling in several favours. But he had done it. Which would be good for future business, now that he had proved himself the equal of that fat bastard Stamford West in Singapore. Granted, he wouldn’t be getting any future custom from General Callas, but Francisco de Quesada had certainly seemed impressed . . .

Someone knocked on the door. Larry was surprised; he hadn’t ordered room service, and as far as he was aware nobody at the hotel knew him. ‘Hello?’

No answer, just another knock. Irked, he put down his drink and answered it.

‘Evening, Dad,’ said Eddie in a scathing voice, pushing past him. ‘How’s things?’

‘Uh . . . fine,’ said Larry, shocked. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Here on business. You?’ Eddie dropped into a chair, gesturing for him to retake his place.

‘Same here. How did you know I was here?’

‘Found something you left behind.’ Eddie held up the business card, still in the evidence bag. His father froze for the briefest moment before lowering himself into the armchair and picking up his drink. ‘So I called your home number to see where you were. Spoke to Julie, said hi.’ He returned the card to a pocket of his battered and seawater-stained leather jacket.

Larry downed another slug of whisky. ‘How’s Nina?’

‘She’s fine, doing her thing – working out how to find lost cities in Peru, recovering stolen treasures. Stolen Inca treasures.’

His father was composed enough by this time not to react. ‘Inca treasures, eh? Sounds interesting. Like that cartoon you watched when you were a kid.’

‘Wow, you remembered something about my childhood? Must have been one of the three days you were actually there for it.’

Larry gave him a cold look. ‘Despite what you think, I wasn’t a bad father. At least Elizabeth—’

‘Turned out okay?’

‘I was going to say had no complaints, actually.’ Another swig. ‘But I get the feeling you’ve got some, and they’re nothing to do with your opinion of my parenting skills.’

‘You could say that.’ Eddie produced an envelope and took out two photographs, which he tossed on to the table beside Larry. ‘Recognise those?’

Larry didn’t look at them. ‘There’s not much point me answering, is there? Since I’m sure you think you already know the answer.’

Eddie laughed sarcastically. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not fucking taping you. You don’t need to get all evasive.’

Larry sat forward. ‘What’s this all about, Edward?’

Eddie did the same, fixing him with a stony stare. ‘It’s about whether you’re going to do the right thing. For once in your life.’

‘Don’t you talk to me like—’

‘Shut up!’ Eddie barked.

Larry flinched, then stood, bristling. ‘I don’t take that kind of attitude from anybody. Least of all you.’

Eddie didn’t move, eyes locked on his father’s. ‘Sit down. Or I’ll make you sit down. And you know I’ll do it.’

His jaw tight with anger, the elder Chase returned to his seat. ‘Get to it, then,’ he growled. ‘What do you want?’

‘First off, I want you to look at those photos.’ His father picked them up. ‘The big gold face is an Inca sun disc – religious thing, their version of a cross. The other thing’s called a khipu. Not as impressive, since it’s basically a load of strings, but this one’s important ’cause Nina thinks it’s the key to finding El Dorado.’

Larry raised an eyebrow. ‘What, the El Dorado?’

‘No, Elvis’s Cadillac.’

‘You can be sarcastic or make your point, Edward. I’m not going to listen to you do both.’

‘All right. My point is that they were stolen from an archaeological site in Venezuela, and that you shipped them out of the country. And when I say shipped, I mean smuggled. ’Cause let’s not beat around the bush – that’s what you do, isn’t it?’

‘You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,’ said Larry. ‘I don’t handle anything illegal.’

‘What about those?’ Eddie demanded, indicating the photos. ‘They’re stolen goods – I’d call that illegal right off the bat.’

‘Stolen? From who? I’ve got access to international watch lists from customs, police, insurers – neither of these things were on any of them. Due diligence; I carry it out before taking on any job.’

‘That’s a technicality and you bloody know it. It’d never stand up in court.’

‘As a matter of fact, it has, on more than one occasion. I know what I’m doing. I’m very good at it.’

‘So good that you don’t care who you work for as long as they pay well?’ Eddie said. ‘That guy you gave your business card to was a fucking drug lord!’

‘How he makes his money isn’t any of my concern. All I was doing was delivering a cargo to him – a cargo that as far as I knew was totally legitimate. If it had been drugs I wouldn’t have touched it. Do you think I’m a fucking idiot or something?’

‘You’re something, all right. Didn’t it even cross your mind that the job was a bit dodgy when Diego del Cocainio rings up out of the blue from South America and asks you to shift some merchandise for him, no questions asked?’

Larry almost laughed. ‘As a matter of fact, the whole thing was arranged by a friend of yours.’

That caught Eddie totally off guard. ‘What’re you talking about?’

‘Your old SAS mate.’ Eddie was left even more bewildered. Mac? Relishing the fact that the balance of power had shifted somewhat back in his direction, Larry continued, ‘Alexander Stikes.’

‘Stikes?’ Eddie exploded. ‘Stikes is no fucking friend of mine! The bastard tried to kill me!’

‘Really? Well, obviously I’m glad he didn’t succeed, but I didn’t know anything about that. He actually said you’d recommended me to him.’

‘Oh, and didn’t that give away that something was wrong?’

Larry gave him an icy look. ‘I thought maybe you were attempting to apologise by putting some business my way. But I checked out his company, and everything seemed legit, so I had no reason to doubt him. He put me in touch with Callas and de Quesada, so all I did was act as middleman and ship some goods between them.’

‘Without them being checked by customs.’

A contemptuous snort. ‘You seem to be under the impression that if something crosses a border without a seventeen-point customs check, that means there’s been some great conspiracy. Do you have any idea how many items actually are checked by customs? Maybe one in twenty – and that’s in the West, where they have the technology and manpower to do even that many. Really, all they’re looking for are drugs. Down here, it’s more like one in a hundred. I just make sure that my clients’ cargoes are in the other ninety-nine per cent. A word in the ear of the right person is usually all it takes.’

‘And a bribe?’

‘I prefer to think of them as favours. You know, customs men are almost universally underpaid and under-appreciated. I just show a little gratitude for the job they’re doing.’

‘And what about you, then?’ Eddie demanded. ‘You don’t have any problems with taking money from a drug lord?’

‘As I said, his business isn’t my business. He was just another client. The only questions I ask are where, when, and how much?’

Eddie stood, voice low and harsh. ‘I’ve got a new question you should ask yourself: am I going to give every penny I got from this job to the British Legion or Help For Heroes, or am I going to jail?’

A startled pause. ‘You – you’re threatening me?’

‘That’s right.’

Anger flared in the older man’s eyes – and defiance. ‘You’ve got no proof.’

Eddie took out the business card. ‘You dealt with de Quesada.’

‘Anyone could have given him that card. Besides, he’s an alleged drug lord, not a convicted one.’

‘Well, he’s a dead drug lord now.’

Larry’s expression hovered between surprise and relief. ‘So you’ve got even less proof that I had anything to do with him.’

‘Interpol’s got his records. And why do you think I kept your card in a plastic bag? So they can get fingerprints off it. Yours and de Quesada’s.’

‘So . . . they haven’t actually fingerprinted it yet?’

‘Not yet. But I’ll give it back to them if you don’t make a very large donation to charity in the next few days.’ He returned the card to his pocket. ‘I’m giving you a chance here, Dad. You do the right thing. Or I will.’

Larry gulped down the last of his drink, fingers clenched tightly round the glass. ‘I’ll . . . think about it.’

‘Don’t think for too long.’ Eddie went to the door, looking back at his father with disdain. ‘Have a nice trip.’ With that, he left.

Larry banged the empty glass down on the table and jumped up. He paced back and forth across the room, shaking with barely contained fury, before taking a long breath, and picking up his phone. He thumbed through the contact list and dialled a number.

‘This is Larry Chase,’ he said when he got a reply. ‘I need . . . I need to speak to Mr Stikes.’

Nina had already returned to Caracas; Eddie flew back to meet her. She was understandably curious about his side trip to the Colombian capital, but he refused to tell her anything beyond its being connected to Stikes. However, they were both too tired to argue about it, flopping into the luxurious bed in their hotel suite and almost instantly falling asleep.

As soon as Eddie was woken by voices from the next room the following morning, he realised that Nina had something more important occupying her mind than his excursion to Bogotá. Her excitement was clear even through the door. He got dressed and went through to the lounge, finding Nina sitting at a table with Macy, Osterhagen, Kit and even Mac. ‘What’s this, a remake of The Breakfast Club?’

Nina hurriedly gulped a mouthful of toast, washing it down with a swig of coffee. ‘Mm, morning! Guess you slept well – you don’t normally get up this late.’

‘Well, yesterday was kind of knackering. Mornin’, all.’ He waved to the others, getting greetings in response. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

‘I thought you needed a lie-in. And you looked so sweet while you were asleep.’

‘Funny, I’ve seen Eddie when he’s asleep,’ said Mac, ‘and that’s not a word I would ever have used to describe him.’

‘Yeah, well, kipping with a bunch of sweaty, farting SAS blokes tends to make you scrunch your face up,’ Eddie retorted. He looked at the table, seeing the recovered khipu laid out on a long white board, and a jumble of notes in front of the three archaeologists. ‘So, have we got this thing figured out? Hope you’re going to wash your hands before you pick it up,’ he added to Nina, who was wolfing down another slice of buttered toast.

She waved to Macy for a napkin. ‘Yeah, Leonard thinks he’s got something.’

Eddie pulled up a chair and sat as Osterhagen, with deep bags under his eyes that suggested he had been working all night, held up a large photo of the map in Paititi. ‘We know the start point of the journey,’ the German explained. ‘Cuzco, of course, the centre of the Inca empire. And we know the end point – Paititi. What we needed were reference points along the way. If we could identify other known locations, it would allow us to work out the code shared between the map and the khipu - directions and distances.’

Eddie nodded. ‘So what’s you found?’

Osterhagen was about to speak when Macy enthusiastically cut in. ‘Only the biggest Inca landmark in the world,’ she said, waving at a blow-up of part of the painted wall. ‘Machu Picchu!’ She pointed out a small illustration amongst the markings, little more than a sketch: two rounded-off conical peaks, one large, one small, with lines presumably representing buildings at their bases. ‘It’s about seventy miles northwest of Cuzco, along a thing called the Inca Trail.’

‘I’ve travelled along it many times,’ said Osterhagen, trying to wrest back the discussion from the perky student. ‘I know the landmarks well. Now, the number of these markings here,’ he indicated part of the map, ‘correspond to the huacas along the Inca Trail between Cuzco and Machu Picchu.’

‘Huacas?’ said Eddie. ‘Sounds like an Inca puking.’

Those who knew him well either smiled or let his attempt at a joke pass without comment; Osterhagen, however, seemed mildly affronted. ‘No, they are sacred sites,’ he said. ‘The Incas believed that certain places were of spiritual importance. Some were natural features like springs or mountain peaks, some were places of historical importance, and others were burial sites for mummies. Not all of them survived the Spanish conquest, because the Conquistadors tried to eradicate everything associated with the existing religions.’

‘But it’s kinda hard to destroy an entire mountain,’ Macy added. ‘A lot of them survived.’

‘Got you,’ Eddie said, examining the photographs. ‘You know where these things are today, so we can work backwards and say this marking means a burial site, or whatever.’

‘And the other part,’ said Nina, having wiped her fingers, ‘is the khipu.’ She indicated the leftmost section of the collection of knotted strings. ‘This part is a record of the first stage of their journey, as far as Machu Picchu. The number of strings matches the number of huacas on the map.’

‘A lot of landmarks,’ noted Eddie.

‘It was a long journey. It’s over a thousand miles from Cuzco to Paititi, and that’s as the crow flies – the Incas took an even longer route. You see this?’

She pointed further along the Inca artefact’s woven spine. Although the strings were dirty and darkened by time, Eddie saw that the various strands were discernibly different. Those up to roughly two-thirds of the way along the khipu’s length were a variety of shades, mostly greys and browns and reds with greens and blues interspersed; beyond that point, they were almost entirely of the last two. ‘The colours change,’ he said. ‘What does that mean?’

‘We think,’ said Osterhagen, ‘the colours represent different types of terrain. This section here,’ he gestured at a cluster of grey strings in the first section of the khipu, ‘corresponds to the highlands along the Inca Trail leading to Machu Picchu. By going back towards Cuzco, we found that other colours match particular features of the landscape.’ He gently nudged one of the strands with a toothpick. ‘This shade of turquoise seems to represent river valleys, for example.’

Eddie took a closer look. The string had multiple knots of different types along its length. ‘So the map tells you what landmarks to look for, the colours of the strings show you the terrain . . . so the knots are, what? Directions? Distances?’

‘Both, in a way,’ said Nina.

‘The Incas had a system of sacred routes radiating outwards from Cuzco,’ Osterhagen explained. ‘They were called ceque pathways, and they connected all corners of the empire. Some were actual roads or paths, but most were just straight lines from one huaca to another. We knew that the pathways had ritual significance – the most important ones, the forty-one ceques around Cuzco, can be linked to the lunar calendar. But nobody has ever worked out how to connect all the others around the empire.’

‘Until now, at a guess,’ Eddie said, seeing that Nina was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.

‘You got that right,’ she told him with a broad grin. ‘Leonard used the data he got by backtracking from Machu Picchu to Cuzco to figure out that the knots closest to the main cord give you directions, based on star charts – the Incas had a very advanced astronomical system.’

‘Not as good as the Egyptian one, though,’ Macy chipped in, defending the non-Cuban half of her heritage.

‘Maybe not, but still accurate enough to be usable for navigation. So that’s part of the key. And the other part is also on the khipu – the rest of the knots. The Inca numerical system was decimal, like ours, and on a khipu it worked like an abacus. The knots represent units, tens, hundreds and so on, depending on their position. If you know the system, you can tell what number’s recorded on a piece of string at a glance, or even by touch.’

‘Again, because I had reference points,’ said Osterhagen, ‘we were able to work out what the numbers meant. They are indeed distances. Nina calculated how they relate to huacas in the real world. In her head,’ he added, impressed.

‘So you know the total distance they travelled?’ asked Kit.

‘Something like seventeen hundred miles,’ Nina replied.

‘Jesus,’ said Eddie. ‘And you said it was a thousand miles in a straight line? Seven hundred miles is a hell of a detour.’

‘It’s because they were sticking to what they knew for most of it,’ Macy said. She opened up a large map of South America. ‘From Cuzco, they were pretty much heading northwest along the east side of the Andes. I guess they didn’t want to go into the jungle.’

‘But they had to eventually,’ added Nina. She pointed back at the section of the khipu where the coloured threads became predominantly green and blue. ‘We think the green ones represent jungle terrain. And the directions at the top of each string almost all indicate northeast. The blue ones, it seems likely that they mean to follow rivers.’

‘Makes sense,’ said Eddie. ‘Not a lot of other landmarks in the jungle.’

‘Especially if you’re used to living amongst mountains.’ She moved her finger back along the khipu. ‘So if we backtrack from Paititi, they covered long distances with comparatively few changes of direction . . . and then here’ – she indicated the point where the colour scheme reverted to the redder end of the spectrum – ‘is where they crossed from the Andes into the Amazon basin. But even up in the highlands, they were still heading mainly northeast . . . until here.’

Eddie examined the strings she was pointing out. The exact meaning of the knots at their tops were a mystery to him, but he immediately saw what she meant: those to the right of her finger were tied right over left, while on the other side they were fastened left over right. ‘So that’s where they changed direction,’ he deduced. ‘They stopped following the Andes and went out into the jungle.’

Nina nodded. ‘That’s the dogleg, where the extra seven hundred miles came from. And it’s something else too.’

He could tell from her struggle to contain another smile that it was something big. Which, considering what they were looking for, could only be one thing. ‘El Dorado?’

‘El Doraaaa-do!’ she sang, showing him a blow-up of the painted city, the Punchaco – and the final piece of statue – at its heart. Mac chuckled at her unrestrained enthusiasm. ‘The number of huaca markings on the map before you get there is exactly the same as the number of strings on the khipu up to the point where they turn northeast. They left Cuzco, headed along the Andes, thought they’d found a safe place to hide the empire’s greatest treasures . . . then had to move again to avoid the Spanish. But they left some of the treasure behind. And now . . . we can find it.’

Eddie gave her a genially mocking look. ‘What, you mean you haven’t already? I thought you were supposed to be good at this archaeology lark!’

She pouted. ‘Well, we have only just had breakfast. At least give us until lunchtime!’

It took rather longer than that, the process of calculating all the directions and distances represented by each thread of the khipu and then relating those to known huacas throughout Peru dragging on through the day. But Osterhagen’s knowledge of the country and its culture proved an enormous asset, even though he was at times on the verge of falling asleep at the table and had to be prodded awake by the two women. The Incas had illustrated on their map what were now known archaeological sites, and the German’s wealth of experience allowed the group to skip long sections of the trek, narrowing the possible location of the lost city each time.

While Nina, Osterhagen and Macy worked in the lounge, Eddie made a phone call from the bedroom. ‘Hi, Nan.’

‘Edward!’ came the delighted voice from across the Atlantic. ‘It’s so wonderful to hear from you. How are you, my little lambchop?’ His grandmother sounded somewhat stronger than the last time they had spoken, if still a little breathless.

‘I’m fine, Nan. I was going to ask you the same thing.’

‘Oh, I feel a lot better, thank you. I still have to wear this silly mask, but hopefully not for much longer – oh, excuse me.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘I’m a bit tired.’

‘Sorry, I forgot about the time difference!’ England was five and a half hours ahead of Venezuela, making it past ten o’clock in Bournemouth. ‘I’ll call back another time.’

‘No, don’t be silly, Edward. It’s never a problem staying up to talk to you. Where are you ringing from?’

‘We’re in Venezuela, but probably won’t be for long. Nina’s on the trail of something.’

‘Venezuela!’ Nan said, alarmed. ‘Is it safe there? I saw all that trouble on the news.’

‘Yeah, we saw some of it too,’ said Eddie, smiling to himself. ‘But everything’s okay now.’

‘Oh, I’m glad. You do lead an exciting life. But when are you going to be in the newspapers, or on television? Everyone saw Nina in the Sphinx last year, but you were only in the background. Why didn’t you say something?’

‘I’m not much of one for publicity. Nina isn’t either,’ he added, ‘but she sort of gets stuck with it. Besides, who wants to be famous? I’d rather be rich.’

‘Well, you’d better get to work on that. And while you’re at it, some great-grandchildren for your old nan would be nice. Before I pop my clogs.’

‘Plenty of time for that, Nan,’ Eddie insisted. ‘But I’ll see what Nina thinks once we find what she’s after.’

At that moment, Nina burst into the room. ‘Eddie, Eddie!’ she said in excitement. ‘We’ve found it! Come and see!’ She rushed back out.

‘She doesn’t waste time, does she?’ said Nan, amused. ‘So, about those great-grandchildren . . . ’

‘Eddie!’

He sighed. ‘I’d better go, before she drags me out. But I’ll call you again when I get the chance.’

‘That’ll be lovely. Will you be coming back to England? I’d love to see you again.’

‘Yeah, soon as I can. I’ll take you for another walk down to the sea.’

‘I can’t wait. Talk to you again soon, Edward. Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ he replied. ‘Bye.’

‘Goodbye, love.’

He hung up, then went into the lounge just as Mac and Kit entered. ‘We were summoned,’ Mac told him wryly.

The three men joined the archaeologists at the table. ‘So, what’ve we got?’ Eddie asked.

‘This is where we’re looking,’ said Nina, tapping a map of Peru. The area beneath her fingernail was in the Amazonas region, south of the border with Ecuador, on the eastern flank of the Andes. ‘Leonard worked out that one of the last places the Incas visited en route was Kuélap, which is a pretty amazing fortress near Chachapoyas.’ She flipped open a reference book to show her audience a picture of its imposing outer wall.

‘Impressive,’ said Mac. ‘And it looks in good shape, too. Did the Spanish discover it?’

‘Actually, no,’ Osterhagen told him. ‘Even though they reached that region, they never found it – which is why it has survived so well.’

‘Which makes it more likely that they never found El Dorado either,’ said Nina. ‘The whole region is cloud forest; high-altitude jungle. Very few inhabitants, now or then – and lots of places to hide.’

‘So how close have you got to finding it?’ Eddie asked.

‘We think within a couple of miles. The directions from Kuélap take you more or less due north for about forty miles, until you reach the point where the Incas headed northeast towards Paititi.’

Kit peered at the map’s contour lines. ‘It looks rather hard to get to.’

Osterhagen shook his head. ‘Not as hard as you think. There is a road that runs through the mountains. Well, I say a road, but it will not exactly be an autobahn. It will be narrow, it will be steep . . . and it will be dangerous. Very dangerous.’

‘Oh, great,’ said Eddie. ‘A death road.’

‘A what?’ Macy asked, alarmed.

‘Well, you know how in the States dangerous roads have barriers and warning signs and kerbs to keep you away from massive cliffs?’

‘Yeah?’

‘This won’t.’ She appeared unhappy at the prospect.

‘Any road is better than no road,’ Mac assured her. ‘But presumably it can’t be too close to the road, or somebody would have discovered it by now.’

‘We’ve got some more clues,’ Nina replied. ‘The map in Paititi showed that El Dorado was very close to a waterfall.’ She nodded towards a laptop. ‘We’ve checked the IHA’s satellite imagery, and think we’ve pinpointed it.’

‘And we should be able to drive most of the way,’ said Osterhagen. ‘There will be a trek through the jungle, but nothing worse than at Paititi. The area around the waterfall is reasonably flat.’

Mac nodded. ‘That sounds good.’

‘For what?’ Eddie asked.

‘For me.’

‘What?’

‘I rather fancied coming along with you this time,’ said the Scot amiably.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Not at all. I’d quite like to see one of these incredible discoveries first-hand. And to be perfectly honest, that little jaunt around Caracas the other night . . . well, it made me realise that in some ways I rather miss the action.’

‘But you really want to come on an expedition?’ Nina asked.

‘Why not? Dr Osterhagen said the place you’ll be exploring is fairly accessible. And just because I’ve got a tin leg doesn’t make me helpless. I’ve run a couple of half-marathons on it.’

‘Well, if you think you’re up to it, I’d be happy for you to come with us,’ said Nina. She saw from her husband’s face that he had a different opinion, but he said nothing. ‘So,’ she went on, addressing the whole group, ‘this could be it. We might actually have found El Dorado.’

‘What’s the next move?’ asked Kit.

‘The first thing is to contact the Peruvian government via the UN and ask permission to mount an expedition. Considering what we’re looking for, I think we’ll get an answer fairly quickly. Once we have that, organising everything shouldn’t take too long. As Leonard said, we can drive there.’

‘And if we actually find El Dorado?’ asked Mac.

‘Then we’ll probably be sticking around for a while! But you won’t have to stay if you don’t want to. As much as I love getting down to the real nitty-gritty of archaeological work, I know it’s not for everybody.’

‘Does that mean I can leave too?’ Eddie asked, raising a few laughs.

Kit had more to add. ‘When you talk to the Peruvian government, Nina, make sure you emphasise the need for security. If word gets out about what we’re searching for, the entire region will fill with treasure hunters – or worse.’

‘Wait, “we”?’ said Eddie. ‘You want to come an’ all? Thought the case was closed now that we’ve got back the stuff Da— de Quesada nicked.’ Only Kit noticed his near-slip, but the Interpol agent’s knowing look assured him that their mutual secret would remain that way for now.

‘Technically, it is,’ said Kit. ‘But . . . well, I agree with Mac. I want to see the lost city of gold! And I also want to see what happens when Nina puts all the statues together.’

‘Okay,’ said Nina. ‘I’ll talk to the UN tomorrow. Until then, we’re still honoured guests of the Venezuelan president, so we might as well make the most of it. Dinner, I think?’

There was a chorus of agreement from round the table. The group broke up, heading back to their rooms to freshen up and change. Eddie followed Mac out, catching up with the Scot in the corridor. ‘Mac. A word?’

‘Something the matter, Eddie?’ Mac asked innocently.

‘You know bloody well there is. Why do you want to come with us?’

‘For exactly the reasons I told Nina. I’m honestly keen to see what she’s going to find. And since I flew halfway round the world, I think it would be a shame to go home right before the interesting part.’

‘You didn’t think being shot at by a Hind was interesting?’

‘There’s interesting, and there’s interesting.’ Mac smiled; then his expression became more serious. ‘I may be getting on, Eddie, but I’m not some invalid. And I want to make the most of life before I become one. As I told Nina, I ran some half-marathons after I recovered from losing my leg, but I doubt I could manage another one.’

‘Good job you don’t need to. You’ve got a free bus pass now.’

‘Very amusing. Although I do like being able to get home without having to pay. Once I’m there, though . . .’ A regretful tone came into his voice. ‘It’s rather an empty place, truth be told. Especially in the evenings. I want something to do, and people to do it with.’

Eddie was taken aback by his friend’s confession. ‘Why didn’t you say something before? I could have come over to England more often.’

‘I don’t want sympathy, Eddie,’ Mac snapped. ‘I want to play my part!’

‘But you do, though. You do that consulting work for MI6, you’ve helped me and Nina out of trouble – Christ, you even saved a roomful of world leaders from getting blown up last year.’

‘We mostly have Kit to thank for that,’ said Mac. ‘But the point is, I don’t want to suffer a gradual slide into senescence—’

‘Into what?’

‘Crumbling decrepitude. I’d rather keel over dead on the spot from a heart attack before I reach seventy than shrivel away in a hospital ward stuck full of tubes.’

His words summoned up an image in Eddie’s mind: his grandmother, small and helpless in the hospital bed, face covered by an oxygen mask. ‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s no way to end up.’

Mac recognised his change of mood, and understood its meaning. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be quite so . . . blunt.’

‘That’s okay.’ He forced away the depressing mental picture. ‘So what you’re saying is, you want to fight to the end.’

‘To coin a phrase, yes.’ A wry smile crinkled Mac’s features. ‘Although I could do without literally fighting. I’ve had more than enough of that!’

‘But you really think you’re up for it? Jungles, mountains, death roads?’

‘If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked to go in the first place, would I?’ He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. ‘I already had you carry me to safety once in my life. Twice would be embarrassing. I still have my pride!’

‘Well . . . all right,’ said Eddie, feigning grudging acceptance. ‘So long as I don’t have to share a tent with you.’

‘If that were going to happen, I’d back out right now!’ They both laughed. ‘Better get ready for dinner. See you soon.’ He headed down the hallway.

Eddie watched him go, then returned to his own suite.

In his room, Kit changed his shirt and put on a jacket, and was about to leave when he paused, thinking, then took out his phone. Listening at the door to make sure nobody was about to knock, he made a call. ‘This is Jindal.’

‘What is it?’ came the terse reply.

‘Dr Wilde thinks she has found the location of the last statue segment, in northern Peru. I’ll be accompanying her on the expedition.’

‘Good. Do whatever is necessary to ensure she recovers it. The future of the world depends on our obtaining all three statues. And, having spoken to her, I think she may be sympatahetic to the Group’s goals.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ said Kit, but the call had already ended.

He was taking a huge risk by not telling his paymasters what had happened at the Clubhouse: that Stikes had tortured information about his true mission out of him, despite his best efforts to resist. The mercenary leader now knew of the Group’s existence, even if he had no specific details of its plans, for the simple reason that his interrogation subject didn’t know them himself. But that alone would be reason enough for the Group to terminate his employment . . . or more. In return for the considerable rewards they promised, they expected – demanded - success.

Which, if Nina’s deductions were correct, would soon be forthcoming. Reassured, he left the room.

30

Peru

‘So these are cloud forests, huh?’ said Macy, surveying the scenery. ‘I can see the forest part – but where are the clouds?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Eddie, driving. ‘Once they come down, you won’t see anything but bloody clouds!’

The seven-seater Nissan Patrol was in the middle of a small convoy, heading north along a dirt road that had split off from a paved highway some thirty miles north of the provincial capital, Chachapoyas. In another off-roader behind them were two Peruvian archaeologists; the tall, thin-faced Professor Miguel Olmedo from the University of Lima, and his shorter, fatter associate Dr Julian Cruzado. A local archaeological presence was both expected and welcome, but Nina was less enthused about their also being accompanied by a senior official from the Peruvian Ministry of Culture, a rather full-of-himself man named Diego Zender who had attached himself lamprey-like to the expedition to claim a stake in the glory if the mythical El Dorado turned out actually to exist. Zender had an assistant, a young, long-haired woman called Juanita Alvarez whose function when not acting as a chauffeuse, as far as Nina could tell, was mostly to stand beside her boss looking pretty.

But freeloaders weren’t the issue. More worrying was the profession of the four men in the leading Jeep. Soldiers. Her request for security had been taken seriously, but she couldn’t help feeling that the armed group in their military vehicle might draw exactly the kind of curiosity she hoped to avoid. Zender’s claim that the troops were necessary to protect them from the terrorists known to operate in the province had not exactly been reassuring.

But for now, Nina was able to forget such concerns and simply enjoy the landscape. The three 4×4s were heading up a long, lush valley, vegetation clinging to practically every non-sheer surface. Unlike the trees in the rainforest around Paititi, those here were rather squat, clawing moisture out of the air when the clouds descended rather than waiting for rainfall, but they were every bit as dazzlingly green in the stark high-altitude sunlight. The river that had carved the passage out of the Andes was over fifty feet below at the bottom of a ravine, but the slope they were ascending was broad enough for them to stay well clear of the drop.

That wouldn’t be the case for long, however. In the distance, she picked out the road’s brown thread clinging precariously to the flanks of the mountains. Swathes of grey running down the hillside, as if someone had randomly scraped away a top layer of green paint, provided evidence of recent landslides. ‘So,’ she asked Eddie, ‘when you mentioned death roads the other day . . . is that actually what they’re called?’

‘’Fraid so,’ he replied. ‘Went along one in the Philippines once. Fucking terrifying! Combat’s bad, but idiot drivers are worse. The best bits of it, there was just enough room for two cars to get past each other.’

‘And the worst bits?’ Kit asked from the second row of seats, where he was sitting with Macy.

‘Just enough room for one car. Only problem is, people still try to pass, ’cause nobody wants to reverse for half a mile. And God help you if a bus or a truck comes the other way – they just go “We’re bigger than you, so we’ve got right of way” and come right at you without stopping.’

‘You know,’ said Mac from beside Osterhagen on the rear seats, ‘I think I’ll just sleep until we get there. If we go over the edge, try not to wake me with your screams, hmm?’

‘At least there is not much traffic,’ Osterhagen said. ‘We should not have any prob—’

At that exact moment, the convoy rounded a bend – and the Jeep skidded to an emergency stop. Eddie had prudently kept a safe distance behind it, and was able to bring the Nissan to a halt with ten feet to spare. Unfortunately, Juanita had not been so careful, and the Patrol’s occupants took a jolt as her off-roader nudged their bumper.

The driver of the bus lumbering the other way gave the stalled vehicles a baleful glare. ‘Everyone all right?’ Eddie asked, getting positive responses. He looked back at Osterhagen. ‘You were saying, Doc?’

Osterhagen recovered his composure. ‘I was about to say that once we get past the next village, which is the last settlement for over forty kilometres, we should not have any problems.’

‘Of course, Leonard,’ said Nina teasingly.

There was a walkie-talkie on the dashboard shelf, letting the three vehicles communicate; it squawked. ‘Hey, careful how you drive!’ Zender demanded. ‘That could have damaged my car.’

‘Damage his face,’ Eddie muttered, picking up the radio. ‘Here’s a tip – you might want to stay further back and not drive so fast.’

‘Juanita knows how to drive,’ came the peevish reply. ‘Now come on, get going!’

‘Think anyone’d mind if he went over the edge?’ Eddie asked as the bus finally squeezed past. Nobody raised any objections. The Jeep set off, the Englishman pulling out after it. With a lurch, Zender’s vehicle followed.

About five minutes later a village came into view, ramshackle buildings clumped haphazardly on each side of the road. The Jeep’s driver sounded his horn to encourage a skinny goat to clear out of their path, the blare attracting curious looks from the locals. Once the animal had ambled aside the Jeep moved off again, and Eddie had started to follow when Osterhagen suddenly jumped in his seat. ‘Eddie, stop the car!’ he cried, pointing. ‘Over there, look!’

An elongated, moss-covered rock poked out of the ground like a giant raised finger. ‘What is it?’ Nina asked.

The German was out of the Nissan before Eddie had brought it to a complete stop. ‘It’s a huaca! On the map, one of the last markings before the Incas reached El Dorado was of a particular type of huaca. And this,’ he pointed excitedly at the stone, ‘is almost identical to one on the Inca Trail – and the marking is the same!’

Nina joined him as the third 4×4 pulled up. ‘So you think we’re nearly there?’

‘Yes, absolutely!’ He gazed at the valley ahead. ‘Only a matter of kilometres. I am certain!’

Zender’s window whirred down. ‘Why have we stopped?’

‘Navigation check,’ said Nina. ‘Dr Osterhagen thinks we’re getting close.’

The official’s impatient expression was replaced by approval. ‘Ah! Good, good. Well, lead us there, doctor!’

It was now Eddie’s turn to show impatience. ‘Are we done?’

‘Yeah, we’re done,’ Nina said. She and Osterhagen re-entered the Patrol, and it continued on its way, Zender’s 4×4 behind it.

A scruffy man, the smouldering stub of a cigarette between his lips, emerged from a house to watch the convoy pass. He paid special attention to the Nissan – and the red-haired woman in the passenger seat. Once the convoy had left the little settlement, he stubbed out the cigarette, then took out a cellphone.

Beyond the village, the road steepened – and the ground it traversed narrowed enormously. The ravine carved by the river was now over a hundred feet deep, the drop growing steadily higher as they drove along. The route ahead was not so much running through the mountains as clinging to them by its fingernails.

The convoy slowed as it approached a bend. Poking up from the cliff’s edge were several crude wooden crosses. ‘Ah . . . what are those?’ Macy asked nervously.

‘Where people have gone over the edge,’ Eddie said, navigating the turn. ‘Narrow roads, bad drivers and old cars with knackered brakes aren’t a good mix.’

‘Yeah, I wish I hadn’t asked,’ she said, shuffling across the seat away from the edge. ‘Couldn’t we have gone by helicopter?’

‘I don’t think the Peruvians’ budget would have stretched to that,’ said Nina.

‘I would have paid! I’ve got money!’

The Patrol’s other occupants laughed as it rounded the bend, revealing more of the twisting route. As Eddie had promised, clouds were starting to obscure the valley below, in places the ever-deepening ravine vanishing into a blank grey haze. Somehow, that made the prospect of going over the edge even more frightening: no way of knowing how long it would take to reach the fall’s inevitable conclusion.

Other features were still clearly visible, though. ‘Is that the waterfall?’ Kit asked, pointing.

Ahead, a great scar ran down the hillside, vegetation and even soil scoured away to reveal the bare rock beneath. It started at the top of a rise a few hundred feet above the road, and descended into the clouds below. A thin waterfall flowed down the centre of the exposed swathe, splashing on to the road. Nina checked her map and satellite photos, puzzled. ‘No, this isn’t marked.’

Eddie reduced speed. ‘Must’ve been a landslide. Probably a river up there somewhere that overflowed.’ The road itself was covered in debris, rocks and thick reddish-brown soil dumped on the already rough surface. Even though the locals had made the obstruction passable by simply shovelling much of the stuff over the cliff, the way forward was still worryingly narrow.

The soldiers in the Jeep also had misgivings, three of them hopping out and leaving the driver to traverse it alone. Nina drew in a sharp breath when the Jeep reached the waterfall and slipped sideways – the constant flow from above had turned the soil to a soft, muddy slush – but a quick burst of power pulled it free, muck spraying from its wheels. Once it cleared the landslip, the soldiers hurried after it.

‘Well, us next,’ said Eddie cheerily. ‘Everyone out. Except you, Nina.’

‘What?’ she protested as the others exited. ‘Why do I have to stay in the car of terror?’

‘’Cause of that whole “till death us do part” business – it might not be too far off. Nah, I’m just kidding,’ he added, at her unamused expression. ‘I need you to look out of your side and tell me how close we are to the edge.’

‘Too close,’ she said, even before he started moving. ‘Way too close!’

‘Ha fuckin’ ha. Okay, here we go . . .’

The Patrol was considerably wider than the Jeep, the wheels on Nina’s side coming within inches of the edge – which sagged alarmingly as the truck’s weight was put on it, clods of earth falling down the steep slope. Somehow, a stunted tree had managed to cling to a rock outcrop below while everything around it had been washed away, the lone sign of life a silhouette against the clouded abyss. She looked away from the vertiginous view to the sliver of road between the tyres and the long drop. ‘About six inches, six inches, three inches – whoa! Minus an inch.’

Eddie turned the 4×4 in as far as he could, trying to keep it in the ruts made by previous traffic. ‘That better?’

‘Yeah. Relatively speaking.’

They reached the waterfall, the stream drumming off the roof. Nina, still leaning out of the window, gasped as spray washed over her. But the Nissan rolled on, soon clearing the landslip.

‘Piece of piss,’ Eddie said, cracking his knuckles. ‘And we even stayed dry! Well, I did.’ Nina glared at him from under damp strands of hair.

The Nissan’s passengers caught up, then the last off-roader made the crossing, Zender chivalrously abandoning the passenger seat and allowing Cruzado to act as Juanita’s navigator. But she too cleared the landslide safely, and the convoy continued. There was an awkward moment when a pickup truck coming the other way took a ‘first come, first served’ attitude by swerving to the inside of another tight, unprotected bend marked by more crosses, forcing the three vehicles to creep around it on the outside, but they soon reached the first piece of actual infrastructure along the road: a short wooden bridge across a narrow gap.

‘We’re getting close,’ Nina said into the radio as she found the landmark on the map. ‘About another mile.’

The news produced a renewed sense of anticipation, even as the clouds closed in. The road narrowed again, the hillside so steep that a short section had actually been carved out of the rock itself to allow it to continue, thousands of tons of stone hanging above the vehicles. Beyond that, though, the way ahead began to widen out. Another couple of turns . . . and their destination came into view.

‘Now that’s more like it,’ said Mac admiringly. The broad waterfall ahead was much more impressive than the one they had passed on the road, plunging down a vertical cliff for over two hundred feet. Its base was hidden by jungle; the falling water had cut a deep bowl out of the hillside, every square inch packed with plant life. Above the cliff, tall peaks loomed through the clouds, the river feeding the falls flowing through a narrow valley between them.

‘This is the place,’ said Nina. She passed word via radio to the other vehicles. The soldiers turned off the road and led the way into the little forest, crunching the Jeep up a slope for a few hundred yards, winding between the trees, before the sheer density of vegetation blocked their path. The other 4×4s stopped behind them.

Everyone climbed out, glad the bumpy ride was over. Nina stretched and looked round. The waterfall was now obscured by foliage overhead, but the echoing rumble from up the hill meant it would not be hard to find.

She noticed that Mac appeared a little hesitant on the uneven ground. ‘You okay?’

‘I just need a bit of extra support,’ he said, smiling. ‘And there it is.’ He picked up a fallen branch and knocked it against a nearby trunk to shake off loose dirt before leaning on it. ‘There. A perfectly good walking stick.’

‘Tie another couple together and you’ll be able to make a Zimmer frame,’ Eddie joked.

Mac waved the stick at him. ‘Do you want me to kick your arse, Eddie, or beat it?’

‘Now, now, boys,’ said Nina, amused. She turned to Osterhagen. ‘Okay, Leonard. What are we looking for?’

Osterhagen had photo blow-ups of the Paititi map laminated in a folder. ‘First, we find the waterfall, I suppose. Then, if the painting was accurate, the ruins should be to one side of it.’

Zender bustled over, Juanita a step behind. ‘Is this the place? Have we found it?’

‘We haven’t even started looking,’ Nina chided. ‘Okay, to find the waterfall we just need to follow our ears. Then we’ll see what else is there.’

The soldiers stayed with their Jeep as the rest of the expedition moved uphill into the jungle. The rumble of falling water soon became a roar, and they emerged from the trees to face its source.

‘Now that’s pretty . . . wow,’ said Macy.

‘No kidding,’ Nina agreed.

Close up, the falls were even more spectacular than they had appeared from the road. The flow, some ninety feet across, plunged down the wide, almost sheer cliff to crash thunderously over the broken boulders at its base. Spray swirled across the pool carved from the rocky ground, sparkling rainbows shimmering in the sunlight breaking through the clouds. A broad, fast-flowing stream acted as a run-off, water rushing away into the forest.

Osterhagen compared one of his pictures to the view before him. ‘It looks a lot like the painting. Don’t you think?’

‘It’s pretty close,’ Nina agreed. While the mural was stylised, there were undeniable similarities between it and the real-life features of the landscape.

‘So in that case,’ said Eddie, ‘where’s this lost city?’

‘Let’s take a closer look, shall we?’ Nina led the way to the water’s edge. ‘According to the map from Paititi, it should be off to that side of the waterfall.’ She pointed. ‘We’ll split up and check the cliffs.’

Eddie looked up at the falls. ‘Think this really is the place?’

‘It could be. I’m getting a vibe.’

‘I thought you left your vibe at home?’ he said with a dirty smile. Nina shook her head, then directed the others to begin the search.

Despite her gut feeling, however, nothing turned up. The cliffs were conspicuously lacking in golden cities, or nooks and caves that might provide entrance to one. Empty-handed, the expedition members regrouped by the pool. ‘I don’t understand,’ said Osterhagen disconsolately. ‘It matches the picture from Paititi. What are we missing?’

‘There is nothing here,’ said Zender. ‘We have wasted our time.’

Nina was losing her own patience with the Peruvian official. ‘We haven’t finished searching yet. There’s the other side of the waterfall to search, for a start. And then there’s the waterfall itself. There might be an opening behind it.’

‘Easy way to check,’ said Eddie. He picked up a stone and flung it into the plunging waters. A faint clack of rock hitting rock was audible even over the rumble of the falls. ‘Well, that’s solid,’ he said, picking up a second stone and hurling it at a higher spot. ‘And that’s . . . ’

The second missile was swallowed up without a sound.

‘. . . not,’ Eddie concluded, surprised. ‘Huh. I was only doing that to take the piss!’

‘There’s a cave behind the waterfall?’ Mac asked.

‘Maybe . . .’ Nina regarded the falls thoughtfully.

Eddie threw another stone, aiming at the same height as before, about sixty feet above the pool, but some way off to one side. Again, the missile disappeared noiselessly. ‘It’s at least forty feet wide,’ he said, bending to pick up a new projectile.

Nina put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Save your pitching arm, hon. We’ve got an easier way to check.’

Amongst the team’s equipment was a laser rangefinder, which Nina had requisitioned from the IHA to take measurements of whatever they found. The results took some time to collect; while the device could work through rain, it hadn’t been designed to send its beam through a torrent of water. The reading constantly fluctuated as the laser light was refracted by the falls. But she didn’t need millimetric precision, only for enough of the beam to reflect off the cliff for her to get a reading . . . or not.

Osterhagen stood beside her as she scanned the waterfall, sketching the results. It became clear that there was indeed an opening hidden behind the deluge – a large one, at that. The cave mouth was some seventy feet wide and at least forty high, its lowest point fifty feet above the pool.

Always fifty feet above the pool. While the outline of the opening was irregular in shape, its base was completely level. ‘That’s got to be man-made,’ Nina said.

‘It could have formed along a rock stratum,’ said the German. But it was clear he didn’t believe it.

Eddie looked at the drawing. ‘Be a bugger to get to it. Even if you climb up that high away from the waterfall, you’ve still got to get across – and that much water coming down’ll knock you right off unless you’re seriously well attached. That’s a job for a pro climber.’

‘I used to climb,’ offered Cruzado. Everyone looked at the portly, middle-aged Peruvian. ‘A long time ago,’ he admitted.

Nina continued surveying the cliffs. ‘We might not need to go all the way up,’ she said, pointing at a spot almost dead centre of the waterfall, and considerably lower. ‘There’s another opening.’

‘It is not very big,’ said Osterhagen as she took more readings. He marked it on his sketch. It was roughly twenty feet above the base of the falls.

Nina swept the rangefinder back and forth. ‘I think that ledge leads to it. Someone might be able to climb up to it and then go along behind the waterfall.’

‘Someone,’ said Eddie, with a faint but distinct sigh. ‘You mean me.’

‘I’d volunteer,’ said Mac, ‘but, well . . . ’ He banged his stick against his prosthetic leg, plastic and metal rattling.

‘Can you do it, Eddie?’ Nina asked. ‘With the climbing gear that we’ve brought, I mean. Or will we need to go back to town for more equipment?’

‘No, I can probably do it with what we’ve got,’ he said. ‘I’d rather take the chance than drive along that bloody road again!’ He looked between the waterfall and Osterhagen’s drawing, judging distances. ‘We’ve got enough rope, so . . . yeah, I think I can do it. I’ll put in some spikes so I can hook up the line.’

‘So that we can get across?’

‘I was thinking more so I can get back. It’s only twenty feet up, but I don’t really want to end up in that pool. There’re a lot of pointy rocks.’ He gave the cliff one last look, then nodded. ‘I can do it. Let’s get the gear.’

Eddie, Nina and Macy trekked back to the Jeeps, finding the four soldiers sitting around smoking and looking bored. Their interest perked up when Macy filled them in on developments. The highest-ranking of them, a young lieutenant called Echazu, decided to accompany the group back to the waterfall – purely in the interests of gathering information for his superiors, of course, rather than the hope of being involved in something mediaworthy. Another soldier, a corporal, persuaded him of the benefits of having a second pair of eyes to help with his report, but the two remaining privates were left disappointed as they were told to stay and watch the vehicles.

The soldiers in tow, they returned to the waterfall. Mac and Osterhagen had been to the base of the falls in the hope of glimpsing what lay behind it, but nothing was visible through the water and spray. ‘That looks like the easiest way up,’ Mac told Eddie, indicating a particular section of rock face.

‘Yeah, shouldn’t be too hard,’ Eddie agreed, before giving the older man a look. ‘Been trying to find a nice simple route for yourself, have you?’

‘Well, of course! If El Dorado really is hidden behind there, I’m not going to stand outside like a lemon while you and Nina explore it. I want to see the place for myself.’

‘That’s if there is anything back there.’

‘There must be,’ said Osterhagen earnestly. ‘Everything fits - the map at Paititi, the khipu, the trail of huacas. This is the place.’

‘Then let’s find out,’ said Nina. She regarded Eddie expectantly.

‘Muggins leads the way, as usual,’ he said. ‘All right, I’ll go and find you another archaeological wonder. If I must.’ He grinned, then gathered his equipment and went to the foot of the cliff.

The edge of the waterfall was only ten feet from where he began to climb, and spray quickly soaked him. As Mac had thought, the ascent was straightforward; it took barely a minute before he was level with the ledge. It was only a matter of inches wide. Eddie hammered a spike into the rock and attached a carabiner, then threaded the rope through it and dropped one end down so the others could follow him up, tying a knot to secure it. Then, the line coiled over one shoulder, he faced the wall and edged sidelong along the ledge.

Even though the route was set slightly back beneath an overhang, the falling water still pounded at his back. He dug his fingers into cracks in the rock, clinging tightly and advancing step by cautious step.

After about forty feet, the cliff bulged slightly outwards. It would force him directly into the deluge. He tried to look past it to see if the ledge continued on the far side, but his view was blocked by water and spray. Keeping hold with one hand, he took out a second spike and gingerly supported it in the crook of his thumb before tapping it into place with his hammer. Another carabiner was hooked on, and the rope clipped through it. Satisfied it was secure, Eddie took several deep breaths – then found a firm handhold and pulled himself into the deluge.

He almost lost his grip as the full force of the water hit, threatening to hurl him down on to the jagged rocks below. Blinded, unable to breathe, he pressed his chest against the rock and groped ahead. The protruding section of cliff was only short – his hand found clear air again on the other side. He hugged the wall and slid round it, emerging back beneath the overhang.

Utterly drenched, Eddie shook water from his face and regained his breath before attaching another spike. Holding the rope, he twisted to look at what lay behind the waterfall.

His eyes widened at the sight. ‘Well, bloody hell . . . ’

Nina’s radio crackled, Eddie’s voice almost drowned by the noise of the waterfall. ‘Nina, you there?’

‘Eddie! Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Fucking soaked, though.’

‘What can you see?’ she asked. ‘Is there an opening in the cliff?’

‘Nope.’

A shock of disappointment ran through her. ‘What? There isn’t an opening?’

‘Oh, there’s an opening. There isn’t a cliff.’

The group exchanged confused glances. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, it’s not a cliff. It’s a wall.’

31

Eddie gazed up at his discovery. Behind the waterfall, everything was shrouded in shadow, but there was still more than enough light to see the scale of the wall. Like the ceremonial buildings at the heart of Paititi, it was built from exactingly carved blocks, fitted together with incredible precision. Thirty feet above him was its top, a horizontal line bisecting what had once been an irregularly shaped cave mouth. He couldn’t help thinking it looked like a battlement, the almost sheer, incredibly smooth surface making it impossible for anyone to get inside.

Except by the entrance further along the ledge.

The laser rangefinder had been correct; there was a second, much smaller hole. He regarded it with deep suspicion. It was about five feet high by four wide, and as far as he could tell wasn’t barricaded. A simple, inviting way in.

Too simple. Too inviting. The Incas wouldn’t have built a massive defensive wall, then left a hole through which any gold-hunter could wander. There had to be a catch.

‘What do you mean, a wall?’ said Nina over the radio.

He described it, then continued along the ledge. ‘I’m going to look through the doorway,’ he reported as he advanced. A gentle trickle of liquid splashed over his hand as he balanced it against the wall – not from the waterfall, but from a small slotlike opening above. There were similar gaps nearby. ‘I think there’s water behind the wall as well. I just went under a drainage hole. Hope nobody’s still living here – I’ll be pissed off if I’ve been pissed on.’

‘At least you’ll be able to wash yourself straight away,’ said Nina. ‘How far to the doorway?’

‘Almost there.’ He sidestepped along the last few feet, then cautiously peered into the opening.

Nothing leapt out at him, no traps were sprung. The confined stone passage looked empty, extending about twelve feet before stopping at a wall. Taking out a Maglite, he crouched and shone the torch inside. There appeared to be a vertical shaft rising up on the other side of the wall. But to where?

‘Okay,’ he said, after telling Nina and the others what he had found, ‘it looks clear, but I don’t really trust it. Were the Incas big on booby-traps?’

Osterhagen took the radio. ‘The Incas never developed the wheel, so they weren’t able to build complex mechanisms. But there have been simple traps found at some sites – tripwires, balanced stones.’

‘Great. Just what I needed to hear.’

Nina’s voice came back through the speaker. ‘Eddie, wait where you are. I’m coming up.’

‘Don’t suppose I could persuade you not to? Yeah, thought not,’ he added before she could even reply. ‘You’ll want to put on a rain hat, though.’

It took her ten minutes to get there, holding the rope tightly as she shuffled along the ledge. Even though she had donned a hooded nylon poncho over her clothes, she was still soaked to the skin. ‘God damn it!’ she said as she reached him. ‘This thing was supposed to be waterproof.’

‘Even if you wore a full gimp suit, water’d still get in somewhere,’ Eddie told her. ‘Anyway, this is what we’ve got.’ He shone his light into the tunnel. ‘I risked a look inside while I was waiting. There’s a ledge about seven or eight feet up the back wall, some more above that. And there’s something else. Have a gander.’ He ducked, and moved carefully into the passage, at its end turning sideways so Nina could squeeze past him to see for herself. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think . . . that looks kinda damn worrying,’ she said as she looked up the shaft.

The way up appeared to be stepped; she couldn’t see all the way to the top, but at least three ledges were visible above. Anyone trying to ascend would have to jump to grab the lip of the next step, then pull up and repeat the process. It would be a strain for someone of her modest height, but far from impossible.

That wasn’t what concerned her, however. The reason for her worry was what faced the ledges, set into the back of the great wall behind her.

Spikes.

The first row was only a foot above her head. She gingerly touched one. The dirt that had built up over the centuries came away at her touch, revealing the metal beneath. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘It’s silver. Solid silver. They all are.’

‘Silver?’ echoed Eddie. ‘But there’s dozens of the bloody things – hundreds. They must be worth a fortune!’

‘And these are just the defences. Imagine what the treasures they’re actually protecting must be.’ She tapped the spike’s tip. ‘Ow! Okay, that’s still sharp.’

‘Not much of a defence, though.’ Eddie leaned across the vertical passage, stretching out one arm to the back wall. ‘There’s plenty of space. You’d have to be really clumsy or a total fat bastard to hit them while you were climbing up. Maybe the spikes move.’ He tested how securely the silver prong Nina had touched was attached to the wall. It was firmly fixed. ‘There’s got to be something. Otherwise why put’em here?’

‘I suppose you’d hit them if you fell back down the shaft.’ The ranks of spikes were angled upwards, as if to catch anything that dropped on to them. ‘Or were pushed.’

‘Something pops out of the wall?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. But it’s the only way up.’

Eddie directed his torch back up the shaft. ‘I’ll have a look at the next level,’ he said, stepping out of the low tunnel and standing upright. ‘Move back. Just in case anything happens.’

Somewhat unwillingly, Nina retreated. Eddie aimed his torch beam along the lip of the ledge above. No sign of loosely fitted stones that might be triggers. Something as simple as small spikes just behind the edge would prove nasty, so he jumped up as high as he could, looking for telltale flashes of silver. Nothing.

He steeled himself, then leapt again, this time grabbing the edge with both hands. He hung for a moment, listening for any unexpected noises. But there was nothing except the waterfall’s constant rumble.

‘Do you see anything?’ Nina called.

‘Just looking now . . . ’ He pulled himself up. The ledge, a rectangular stone slab four feet wide and three deep, was empty of anything except dirt. ‘It’s clear.’ He climbed the rest of the way.

Nina watched as he used the Maglite to check the walls – and the spikes. ‘Is there anything there?’

‘Nope.’ He examined the ledge above. ‘Oh, ’ello! There’s something on the next level.’

‘What?’

‘Statue heads on the back wall.’ Still cautious, he climbed up for a closer look. Three stone faces stared coldly at him: sleek, aggressive and feline. ‘Big cats – like panthers or something.’ He reached for one—

‘Eddie, don’t touch them!’ Nina cried.

His hand froze an inch short. ‘What is it?’

‘The map, in Paititi – it had jaguars on it. Three of them, at the entrance to the lost city. And something bad was happening. Give me the radio, I need to check with Leonard.’

He tossed it down to her. ‘Leonard,’ she said, ‘do you have the close-up photo of El Dorado from the map?’

‘Just a moment,’ came the crackling reply. A short while later, the German’s voice returned. ‘I have it.’

‘Good. Look at the section with the three jaguars – tell me exactly what you see.’

‘Why? What have you found?’

‘Eddie’s found the jaguars, but I think we might find something else if we’re not careful. What’s on the picture?’

‘Okay, there are . . . three jaguars sitting in a line. To the left is what appears to be a waterfall, with two men being swept away by it.’

‘Eddie, did you hear that?’ she asked, looking up. Eddie nodded. ‘Is there anything unusual about the waterfall? Any objects or symbols by it?’

‘There are . . . small lines beside it,’ the older archaeologist said. ‘Many of them – twenty or more.’

‘Diagonal, pointing up, yes?’

‘Yes, that is right. You have a good memory for pictures.’

‘No, I’m staring right at them.’ She gave the silver skewers a leery look. ‘We’re in a vertical shaft, and one wall is covered with metal spikes.’

‘Wait,’ said Eddie, ‘so the waterfall comes down here?’

‘And washes you into the spikes, yeah.’

‘Oh, that’s fucking magic! I’m coming back down.’

‘No, stay up there,’ Nina said quickly. ‘Leonard, I’m going to get Eddie to describe what he’s seeing, okay?’ She held the radio high so it could pick up his voice.

Unnerved, Eddie shouted a description of the three stone heads. ‘They’re about a foot apart, and . . . ’ He looked more closely, shining his torch beneath them. ‘And it looks like they move. There’s a vertical slot underneath each of ’em, like they’re on the ends of levers.’

‘How far can they move?’ Nina asked.

‘Not far. Six inches, maybe.’

She thought for a moment, trying to compare what Eddie was seeing with her memory of the picture. ‘Leonard, what was on the other side of the three jaguars?’

‘A man climbing some very steep steps.’

‘And are the spikes on that part of the picture too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Two sets of stairs?’ Eddie wondered.

Nina shook her head. ‘There’s only one entrance. No, it’s something to do with the cats.’ She asked Osterhagen to describe the three animals.

‘The two on the left are sitting upright,’ he told her. ‘The one on the right is crouching down.’

‘Two up, one down,’ she said. ‘It’s part of the Incas’ journey, a clue. But it’s like the huaca markings and the khipu - they thought it was one only they would understand.’

‘Well, if you understand it, I wish you’d tell me,’ Eddie said.

‘I think it’s a key – the way to get into El Dorado safely. The two cats on the left are sitting up, so their heads are held high - at the top of the slots. But the one on the right is looking down at the man climbing up the steps—’

‘At the bottom of the slot,’ he concluded. ‘Like a combination lock. Two up, one down, and that stops you having terminal acupuncture.’

‘Exactly. Well, er, I think. I hope.’

‘Yeah, I hope too, seeing as I’m the one who’s going to have to bloody test it!’

‘Are you sure?’ she asked. ‘We can always go back and try to figure out some other way to get up there.’

‘No, I think you’re right,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t have put it on the map if it didn’t mean something. All the other stuff on it’s worked out so far, so . . .’ He straightened. ‘Let’s give it a shot, then. Here, kitty, kitty . . . ’

He put his hand on the rightmost of the three carved heads, hesitated – then firmly pushed it down.

There was a muffled grinding sound from behind the slot, then silence. He looked up. No water erupted into the shaft. ‘Is it all the way down?’ Nina asked.

‘Far as it’ll go.’

‘So now what?’

‘See if it worked, I guess. Okay, let’s see . . .’ He swept his light along the edge of the third step above him. Nothing out of the ordinary presented itself. He climbed up, finding that this ledge was devoid of any features, only plain walls of intricately arranged blocks.

The top of the shaft was now visible above, the ceiling of a high cave picked out in the half-light coming through the waterfall. Whatever secrets the Incas had left behind were only a matter of feet above.

The thought made him more wary than ever.

He performed another round of checks for potential traps on the fourth ledge. This time, he noticed something different, and unsettling: a gap beneath the slab forming the step. It was only a matter of millimetres high, but compared to the precision of everything else it stood out like a gaping chasm. He took out his knife and probed the narrow opening. It was deeper than his blade could reach. ‘Nina?’

‘Yes?’

‘Go back outside. I think I’ve found the trigger.’

‘No, I’ll stay with you.’

‘No you won’t, ’cause if we’ve cocked this up, I’ll end up stuck on some spikes and you’ll get chucked on to those rocks outside! Go back on to the ledge – stand a few feet from the doorway be safe. Go on!’

Nina reluctantly headed down the tunnel. Eddie waited until he was sure she was clear, then turned his attention back to the next step. Could he wedge something into the gap? Maybe, but that seemed a little too obvious.

Besides, he had confidence in his wife. All the puzzle pieces fitted together – it was time to see the full picture.

He jumped up and grabbed the edge of the slab.

A faint creak, just the tiniest hint of give as his full weight hung from the stone . . .

And nothing.

He climbed up to stand on the ledge and a jolt of fear surged through him as the stone tipped very slightly beneath his feet. But again, nothing happened. Either the trap had broken down over time, or the jaguar heads really were in the correct position to stop it from going off. There definitely was a trap, though; beneath the slab was a fulcrum, the stone tilting on it like a seesaw. But it wasn’t the weight of someone climbing up that would set it off, rather when they stood on the ledge itself, thinking they were safe . . . only for water to explode down the shaft and slam them into the spikes.

‘Clever little buggers,’ Eddie muttered, turning his attention to the top of the shaft. As far as he could tell there were no more hidden threats.

He climbed up into the cave itself.

Nina had guessed from the absence of water surging down the tunnel that Eddie had successfully avoided the flood trap. But as minutes passed with no sign of him, she became increasingly worried. Unable to endure the uncertainty any more, she went back through the opening. ‘Eddie!’ she called. ‘Eddie, can you hear me?’

No reply. Concern rising with each step, she peered up the vertical shaft – and Eddie dropped down in front of her, making her shriek in surprise. ‘Ay up, love.’

‘Jesus, Eddie!’ She recovered her composure. ‘Are you okay? What took you so long?’

‘I’m fine – I was just having a look round.’

‘What’s up there?’

He shrugged. ‘Bits and bobs.’

‘What?’ Disappointment washed over her, as cold as the waterfall outside. Had the site already been looted – or worse, was it nothing but a decoy, an Inca trick? ‘There’s no city? Nothing valuable?’

‘I dunno, I’m not the archaeologist, am I? Come on, I’ll help you up so you can see for yourself. Watch out for the spikes.’

He hoisted her up so she could climb on to the first ledge, then followed. Before long they were at the top of the shaft. ‘I’ll go first and pull you up,’ said Eddie. He climbed into the cave, then reached down for her. ‘Ready?’

She nodded and took hold of his arms, then he hoisted her up the final section of wall. Nina stood, eyes adjusting to the grey light as she looked into the cave.

For a moment, she was dumbstruck. Then she finally managed to speak. ‘Oh, you son of a bitch.’

Eddie shrugged again, this time with a grin. ‘Yeah, I was lying. Just wanted to see your face.’

Filling the great cave was a lost Inca city. El Dorado. The legend was real.

32

An hour later, the other members of the expedition had made their way into the cave.

‘Watch out for that,’ said Eddie, pointing, as Olmedo climbed up the rope he had secured round a boulder at the top of the shaft. Set into a nearby wall was a large square panel of silver that looked for all the world like an oversized cat flap. ‘That’s the trap. There’s a reservoir behind it – if you trip it, the flap opens and the water shoots down the hole and knocks you into the spikes.’

The trap was not foremost on the minds of the others, though. Instead, they stared, almost mesmerised, at the city before them. The cave floor sloped quite steeply, the Inca settlement constructed in tiers rising back into the shadows. The structures nearest the cavern’s entrance were small, like those in Paititi, but they became larger and more grand higher up the hill. Visible near the top was what appeared to be another Temple of the Sun, curved walls standing out amongst the rectilinear buildings around it. Behind it, rising above all else, loomed a palace.

‘I have to admit, Nina,’ said Mac, taking off his rain poncho, ‘this is far beyond anything I expected to see. Anything I imagined seeing, even. Pictures of the places you’ve discovered are one thing, but actually being here in the flesh . . . ’

‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ she replied, still awed by the sheer scale of the find. ‘But it wasn’t only me who discovered it, though. If it wasn’t for Leonard’s knowledge of Inca history and culture, it would have taken years to put together all the clues – if we ever managed to at all.’

Osterhagen was equally effusive. ‘No, Nina, you did far more than I. You realised the importance of the khipu – and if not for the IHA, I would not even be here at all. And to think I was angry to be asked to meet you!’

‘We both owe a lot to Kit and Interpol as well,’ said Nina, turning to the Indian. ‘He came up with the connection between the artefacts on the black market and the statues.’ The case containing the two – and a half – stone figures was amongst the gear the team had ferried up through the waterfall.

Kit adopted a humble look. ‘I only made a suggestion. I had no idea whether or not it would be true.’

‘All right, can the mutual admiration society hold its annual meeting somewhere else?’ said Eddie as he helped the second of the two soldiers out of the shaft. ‘We’ve still got to explore this place yet.’ He noticed Macy’s somewhat pensive expression. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘I just thought of something,’ she replied, taking out the folder containing the photographs from Paititi. ‘On the map, this place is coloured in gold, yeah? Just like the sun disc we found.’

‘Yes?’ said Nina, wondering where she was leading.

Macy waved a hand towards the waiting buildings. ‘So . . . where’s all the gold?’

‘Maybe it was only symbolic.’

Osterhagen shook his head. ‘No, she has a point. The Incas really did put gold on their buildings – the most important ones, at least. The Temple of the Sun in Cuzco was covered in sheets of gold. They were among the first things the Spanish stole and melted down.’

All eyes turned to the silent settlement. Even in the low light, it was plain that the only building material was stone, not precious metal, without so much as a golden glint even from the temple or the palace.

‘Perhaps we are not the first to find this place,’ said Cruzado.

‘No,’ said Nina firmly. ‘Something this big, there’s no way it could have been kept quiet. The Conquistadors would have bragged about finding it to rub in their victory over the Incas, and there isn’t a treasure hunter in history who could have resisted the fame of revealing a find like this. Besides, look at it. The whole place is almost intact. If it’s been looted, they were very orderly about it.’

It was true. Unlike the ruins of Paititi, where the ceaseless growth of the jungle and the rot of climate and insects had left only broken shells, here the majority of the buildings still had roofs. The coverings of woven leaves had long since gone, but the skeletal wooden beams that had supported them remained in place. ‘Then,’ said Zender imperiously, ‘we must explore the city and find the treasures the Incas left behind.’ He paused, then continued more hesitantly: ‘What are we looking for?’

‘Riches beyond imagination,’ said Osterhagen in a portentous voice, sharing a smile with Nina. He pointed up the slope. ‘The map from Paititi showed the Punchaco in the Temple of the Sun – and the last piece of Dr Wilde’s statues in the royal palace. We start at the top.’

‘Ready when you are,’ said Nina.

The group set out up the hill. The limited space available to the city’s builders meant that the steep streets were even more narrow and twisting than those in Paititi. ‘I wish I’d brought my stick,’ Mac complained.

‘It’d probably be quicker to hop over the roofs,’ said Eddie, looking up at the buildings on each side. They splashed through a stream that ran across their path. ‘Keep our feet dry, too.’

‘I don’t think my feet could get any wetter,’ Nina complained. She looked back to see where the stream led, finding that it drained into the reservoir. The trap was self-sustaining.

Osterhagen halted beside a small, low structure. ‘What is it?’ Nina asked.

He shone a flashlight inside. ‘A tomb. Look.’ She peered through the entrance, seeing huddled shapes within. ‘Mummies.’

The sight gave Nina a small chill. Unlike the traditional image of an Egyptian mummy, lying flat and completely swathed in cloth, the bodies of Inca mummies were curled up tightly in their shrouds as if straitjacketed – but with their heads left exposed. The sunken eye sockets of a dead, parchment-yellow face stared back at her, shrivelled lips pulled away to expose its teeth almost with a sneer. Behind it, stacked like sacks of flour, were other bodies.

Macy looked over Nina’s shoulder, and wished she hadn’t. ‘Gross. That’s gonna be in my nightmares. How many of them are there?’

Nina looked up the hill, seeing that a whole section of the lost city seemed dedicated to the little mausoleums. ‘Dozens – hundreds, even.’

‘Is there treasure?’ called Zender. ‘Have you found any treasure?’

‘Depends how you define it,’ said Nina, using her own torch to pick out grubby metal inside the chamber. The object seemed like a cross between a knife and a small trowel, a fat blade with a decidedly unergonomic handle in the shape of a heavily stylised human figure.

‘It is a tumi,’ said Osterhagen. ‘A ceremonial knife – they have been found with many mummies. Some were made from gold, but this looks more like bronze.’

‘Only bronze?’ Zender tutted. ‘Then it can wait. But we can’t. Move along, move along!’

Even Juanita seemed exasperated by his impatience, but none of the Peruvian contingent raised a voice to object; he was, after all, technically their boss. Nina had no such concerns. ‘Archaeology isn’t like the Olympics,’ she chided. ‘Bronze isn’t the loser’s consolation prize.’

Mac chuckled. ‘I don’t think that’s quite what the symbolism of the medal ceremony means.’

They continued up the slope. Before long, the pathway became noticeably wider, the surrounding buildings larger. ‘Leonard, go right,’ said Nina when they reached a junction with a tower-like structure to their left. The route ahead continued uphill, but the alternative seemed to lead to a more open area. ‘If it’s like Paititi . . .’

It was. They soon emerged on a plaza, built up at the eastern end, dug out of the sloping rock floor at the west to keep the whole expanse flat. A broad stone stairway led to the higher levels. She looked towards the cave mouth, seeing the lower levels of the city spread out below. ‘God, they were on the run, and they still put in the effort to build all this. It’s incredible.’

‘And we haven’t even found the really awesome stuff yet,’ Macy reminded her, starting for the stairway.

‘All of this is awesome!’ Nina protested with pricked professional pride, looking to the other archaeologists for support. But even Osterhagen was moving with the rest of the group towards the steps, as if magnetically drawn. With a huff, she gave in and followed them.

‘This is how I feel when I’m trying to talk to you about footie,’ Eddie teased her.

They ascended through several steeply ranked tiers of buildings to the Temple of the Sun. As Osterhagen reached the top, Nina paused. ‘Hold on,’ she called. ‘I can hear water.’ Eddie jerked a thumb at the falls. ‘Ha ha,’ she said, with a very fake smile. ‘No, I mean ahead of us. And it’s bigger than that little stream we crossed.’

Osterhagen strode along the side of the temple. ‘I hear it too. I think . . . ah, of course!’ he said as the source came into view. ‘Ritual fountains. They have been found at several other Inca sites.’

Beyond the temple was a small square, overlooked by the shadowed palace on the tier above. Several jets of water gushed out of the paving slabs, falling back into rectangular pools to run off into drainage holes. ‘This must be what makes the stream,’ suggested Kit.

‘Yeah, but what’s making them?’ said Nina. As well as the tinkle and splash of the fountains, there was still the other noise she had heard, considerably deeper. Beyond the palace, at the very rear of the cavern. ‘Back there.’ She started for the next flight of steps.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Osterhagen, surprised. ‘This is the Temple of the Sun! The Punchaco could be inside.’

‘There’s something I want to check,’ she said. ‘This cave was originally carved out by water. I want to find out why there isn’t still a river running through it.’

‘And I thought you married an archaeologist, not a hydrologist,’ Mac said to Eddie with a wry smile.

Zender edged nearer to the temple’s entrance. ‘We don’t need to wait for her, do we?’ Eddie shot him a cold look. ‘Ah, okay, okay. We can wait. Just for a minute.’

Nina scurried up the steps and forced herself to bypass the waiting temple and whatever riches it might contain to see what lay behind it. Her ears had not deceived her. A jet of white water, so much pressure behind it that it appeared almost solid, blasted out of a six-inch hole in the cave’s back wall into a deep pond, from where channels carved in the rock floor sent it downhill to different parts of the city. It was a primitive water main, a simple but effective piece of Inca engineering.

What was considerably less simple was the way the jet had been created. Surrounding the torrent was not natural rock but a wall, as precisely and solidly built as the towering defence at the cave mouth. It was almost like a plug set into the stone, roughly twelve feet across.

She hurried back to the square. The other team members had put down their gear and were waiting for her impatiently. ‘So, find anything interesting?’ asked Eddie.

‘Yes – I worked out how the Incas built this place,’ she said excitedly. ‘They must have dammed up the river before it went underground. Then they plugged up all but a little hole at the back of the cave so they’d have a water supply, and after that they built all of this, then demolished the dam. But since the river couldn’t flow freely down into the cave any more, it went over the top of it . . . and formed the waterfall. A whole city to hide their treasure, and it’s completely invisible from outside.’

Osterhagen was suitably impressed, taking in the ancient buildings surrounding them. ‘The Spanish never gave them enough credit for their engineering skills. That they could build a place like this is amazing.’

‘Their treasures were amazing too,’ said Zender impatiently, once again edging towards the temple’s entrance. ‘Dr Wilde, are you ready see what is inside? Or is their plumbing more interesting to you?’

Nina was tempted to make everyone wait by exploring the smaller buildings around the square, but decided that since Zender was only here for the glory of finding a big prize, the sooner he saw one the sooner he might leave. ‘All right,’ she faux-grumbled. ‘Let’s give baby his bottle.’ The group laughed, to Zender’s annoyance.

She and Osterhagen led the way to the darkened opening. While the limited space in the cave had forced the Incas to compress most of their architecture, the Temple of the Sun was, if anything, larger than its counterpart at Paititi. A short passage followed the curve of the outer wall before opening into a chamber.

Even before she reached it, Nina saw there was something unusual about the interior. Through the roof’s skeletal remains, the light in the passage had the same diffuse twilight cast as the rest of the cave. But the room ahead was different. Not brighter, but somehow warmer, almost like a dawn.

Osterhagen had seen it too. He quickened his pace. They entered the chamber . . .

And were bathed in golden light reflected off the object on its western wall.

‘Mein Gott!’ gasped Osterhagen, gasping. Nina was equally staggered.

They had found the Punchaco.

It dwarfed its copy from Paititi. That had been four feet in diameter; the golden disc before them now was nearer nine, and at least twice as thick as its counterpart. It stood almost floor to ceiling, mounted on the wall to face the trapezoidal eastern window. Unlike the smaller sun disc, which while ornate had been fashioned only from gold, this was decorated with hundreds of precious stones around its rim and outlining the great face of Inti, the sun god, that stared from its centre. The greatest treasure of the Incas, weighing tons, had been transported across hundreds of miles to protect it from the Spaniards’ gold-lust; a monumental, almost unbelievable journey.

But here it was. And an entire city had been built to house it.

The others filed into the room. ‘Jesus!’ said Eddie. ‘De Quesada would have had a job fitting that into his loo.’

Zender’s mouth dropped open at the sight. He gabbled in Spanish to Juanita. ‘What’s he saying?’ Mac whispered to Macy.

‘He’s telling her to start arranging a press conference,’ she replied. The Scot made a sound of quiet amusement.

Nina regarded the relief of Inti, then turned to see where the Inca god was gazing. Through the window, she could see the waterfall – and, she remembered, there was a gap between two peaks on the opposite side of the valley. Even though the view would be obscured by the falls, the Incas had still made sure the temple faced the rising sun. ‘So what do you think, Mr Zender?’ she asked. The Peruvian official had a hand raised to the Punchaco’s rim, fingertips hovering just above its surface as if afraid to touch it. ‘Worth the trip?’

‘Oh, yes, yes,’ he said, so transfixed that he didn’t even turn his head to address her. He finally summoned the willpower to put his hand against the sun disc. Satisfied that it was indeed real, he looked round. ‘Dr Wilde, Dr Osterhagen, this is . . . ’ He struggled for the right words. ‘Amazing!’ was all he could manage. ‘You have found the greatest treasure in Peru’s history. You are both national heroes!’

‘Thank you,’ said Osterhagen, ‘but we are not heroes – simply scholars. The real heroes were here over four hundred years ago, preserving this place for the ages. They made an incredible journey and took great risks to protect their culture and its heritage.’

Zender nodded, rather calculatingly. ‘Yes, yes. If you say that at the press conference, that would be very good!’

‘Let’s save the media planning until we’ve found everything, shall we?’ Nina suggested. ‘There’s still a whole city to explore. And there was something else on the Paititi map.’ She put down her pack and took out the case containing the statuettes. ‘We’ve got two and a half out of three; let’s see if we can complete the set.’

She opened the case, revealing the figurines. The Peruvian contingent looked on in bemusement; Nina had only told a few senior politicians about the IHA’s other ongoing mission when requesting permission to mount the expedition. ‘What are these?’ asked Olmedo.

‘Pointers, I think,’ Nina said. She picked up the first statue; as she had hoped, it glowed with an earth energy reaction, though not an especially strong one. Even so, in the low light it was perfectly clear, the Peruvians reacting with surprise. ‘If I put them all together, I’m hoping they’ll show me the missing piece.’

She carefully brought the three carved purple stones together, cradling them in her hands. The glow changed, a brighter band shimmering – pointing at the sun disc.

‘It’s behind that?’ Kit asked.

Nina grimaced. ‘I hope not – I wouldn’t want to have to damage the Punchaco to get it out!’ She stepped across to the side wall. The line of light moved, the parallax shift indicating that the final piece was close by – but it no longer pointed at the representation of the sun god. ‘No, I think it’s in the palace. Just as the map said.’

‘It shouldn’t take long to find,’ said Macy. ‘Not when you’ve got your own personal weird statue detector.’

Nina addressed the Peruvians. ‘This is the main reason the IHA became involved. There’s no need for you to come with me to find the last statue piece if you don’t want to.’

She had hoped they would take the hint and let her search in peace, but from their expressions – even the two soldiers were intrigued – it was clear they all wanted to satisfy their curiosity. ‘Probably shouldn’t have shown ’em the glowing statues, love,’ said Eddie.

Still carefully holding the circle of figurines, she moved back towards the passage. ‘Well, let’s see where they lead us, then.’

The others following, she left the temple, heading for the palace at the summit of the hidden city.

In the jungle outside the cave, one of the two soldiers left to watch the team’s vehicles looked down the hill. Several minutes earlier, he had thought he heard distant engines, but the waterfall’s never-ending rumble made it difficult to be sure. He had dismissed the sound as nothing more than local traffic picking its way along the winding road – but now he was certain he had heard it again, and closer. He stared down the weaving trail of flattened vegetation made by the off-roaders, but saw nothing except greenery.

His companion, leaning against the Jeep, stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Why would anyone come up here? Nobody’s even supposed to know about this place except those archaeologists.’

‘Someone might have seen our tracks going off the road.’ The reassuring weight of his Kalashnikov AKM rifle hung from one shoulder; he considered unslinging it and heading downhill to investigate. But there was nothing moving amongst the trees except birds, and the noise had stopped. ‘I don’t know. But I’m sure I heard a truck.’

He expected a sarcastic retort, but no answer came. Assuming the other soldier was busy lighting yet another cigarette, he continued, ‘And I know you’re going to say that we almost ran into plenty of trucks on the way here, but I meant it was nearer than the road.’ He turned to await a response—

A man in dirty, ragged jungle camouflage was behind his comrade, one hand clamped over his mouth – and the other driving a knife deep into his throat, spraying blood over the Jeep’s windscreen.

The soldier grabbed his AKM—

A loud, flat thump came from the undergrowth, and he fell, hit in the back by a bullet. He writhed in pain, trying to scream, but only managed a choked gurgle, blood from a shredded lung frothing in his throat and mouth.

The shooter stepped from the bushes. He was short, barrel-chested . . . and wearing a blood-red beret.

Arcani Pachac.

‘Any sign of the rest?’ the Maoist leader asked as his scout pulled the knife from the second soldier’s neck and let the twitching corpse drop to the ground.

‘No, Inkarrí,’ the camouflaged man replied. ‘Their tracks go to the waterfall, but there’s nobody there. They must be behind it.’

Pachac nodded, then almost as an afterthought raised his weapon again. The automatic had been modified with a makeshift silencer, a two-litre plastic soda bottle stuffed with shredded newspaper and polythene bags taped to his pistol’s barrel. Smoke coiled from the hole in the end of the bottle where the bullet had seared through; the torn-up scraps inside had caught fire. He pulled the trigger, a second round smashing into the back of the wounded soldier’s skull. The shot was still loud, the improvised suppressor too crude to do more than muffle it – but, crucially, it didn’t sound like the sharp crack of gunfire. To anyone outside the immediate vicinity, it could be mistaken for a falling branch or other similar natural event. And the waterfall’s thunder masked it still further.

He pulled the smouldering bottle from the gun, then unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt. ‘The way is clear. Move up.’

The luckless soldier had heard engines. Before long, three off-road vehicles came into sight, following the archaeological team’s path. Two were old, battered and unassuming 4×4s - a rusting Ford F-150 pickup with a cargo bed full of rebels, and a long-past-its-prime Toyota Land Cruiser with sagging suspension. Leading the parade, however, was something much newer and more expensive: a bright yellow Hummer H3. Pachac was perversely proud of the vehicle, which his group had obtained by the simple expedient of murdering its owner; the oversized, cartoonish 4×4 was a perfect symbol of the kind of capitalist excess he was aiming to destroy, and it gave him a certain satisfaction to use it against them.

He also got a kick out of driving the huge, opulent vehicle, but kept that to himself.

The crowded trucks stopped behind the expedition’s vehicles, and Pachac’s men emerged. Like him, all were dirty, their clothes grubby and crumpled from a life spent in the rough and on the run. And like him, all were killers. Though they called themselves revolutionaries, to the Peruvian government the True Red Way were terrorists, and hunted as such.

But this time they were not working alone. Pachac ordered his men to head for the falls, then went to the Hummer. Inside was a high-tech field radio. He took the handset and spoke into it. ‘This is Pachac. We’re at the waterfall.’ He wasn’t concerned about the Peruvian authorities overhearing; the radio’s messages were encrypted.

‘Have you seen Wilde and the others?’ the reply came. The voice was clipped. British.

‘No, but they are definitely here. My contact in the village described the woman he saw. Red hair, in a ponytail – it must be her. We think they have found a way behind the waterfall.’ Pachac looked up at the thrum of an approaching helicopter. ‘Is that you I can hear?’

‘Of course it is. How many of them are there?’

‘My contact counted fourteen people. Four of them were soldiers. We have executed two of them already.’

‘We’ll take care of the waterfall – then you take care of the rest of them. But I need Dr Wilde and the Interpol agent, Jindal, alive. You understand?’

‘I have told my men,’ said Pachac impatiently.

‘Good.’ A bleep told the Peruvian that the call was terminated. He followed his men through the trees as the helicopter moved away.

None of Nina’s prior knowledge of Inca civilisation had prepared her for – she realised with amusement that she had started using the name without irony – El Dorado. The other known sites were long-looted and derelict; here, relics of the city’s inhabitants still remained. The palace’s rooms contained belongings left by its occupants, and she had to force herself to walk on by as she followed the statues’ glowing light deeper into the building.

But she knew she could explore the rest of the palace later. For now, finding the final piece was her top priority.

‘It can’t be much further,’ said Kit as the group entered a large room. ‘We’re almost at the back of the palace.’ The hiss of the water jet echoed off the walls.

This deep in the cave, there was much less light than in the Temple of the Sun. Eddie switched on his Maglite. ‘Is that something there?’

The beam found an alcove set into the rear wall – familiar markings within. ‘I think it is,’ said Nina, her pace and heartbeat getting faster.

Osterhagen was right with her. ‘Just like the map from Paititi!’

‘Only part of it,’ said Macy as the others crowded round to look. More flashlights illuminated the painted walls.

Nina knelt to enter the alcove. ‘Yeah. The people who made this map, this is where their journey ended. They didn’t go on into the jungle.’ The golden city marked the end of the trek from Cuzco.

But she was more interested in the nook set into the wall. In it stood a small figure, carved from an unusual purple stone.

Half a figure. The other piece of the last statuette. It had patiently stood here for centuries, waiting to be reunited with its mirror image – and its near-twins. The set was about to be completed.

She put down the other figures, their light vanishing, and cautiously touched the statuette in the niche. It lit up with a rippling glow – strongest in one direction. Towards the sculptures at her feet. ‘This is it!’ Nina said. ‘The last piece.’

‘Maybe now we’ll find out what all the bloody fuss is about,’ said Eddie.

‘Let’s hope.’ She reached for it—

A distant boom, a drawn-out rumble of something enormous tearing apart . . .

The floor shook, little cascades of dust and grit dropping from the walls. The statuettes on the floor clinked against each other. ‘Terremoto!’ cried Zender, frantically looking round for shelter.

‘It’s not an earthquake,’ said Eddie, straining to listen over the sound of water. ‘More like . . .’

‘Artillery,’ Mac finished for him.

Another tremor rolled through the ground. A new sound, closer, more frightening. Overhead. Rock straining against rock. ‘Shit!’ said Eddie. ‘The whole fucking place is going to come down! We’ve got to get out of here.’

‘The statues!’ Kit almost shouted.

‘I’ve got them,’ said Nina. No time to see what happened when they were brought together; she jammed them all into the foam-lined case and closed it. ‘Okay, let’s go!’

Everyone ran for the exit, Mac and Eddie side by side at the rear. Over the thumps and rumbles of rock, Nina realised that another sound was changing. ‘The waterfall – listen!’ The thunder of the falls was dying down. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get outside!’

They rushed on to the terrace overlooking the square behind the Temple of the Sun. The fountains were still gushing, fed by the subterranean reserve backed up behind the dam at the cave’s rear.

But ahead, the flow concealing the cavern’s mouth was weakening, glimpses of the valley’s far side visible through the thinning curtain.

The river had been blocked.

Alexander Stikes looked out of the hovering Hind’s cabin with a smile. Krikorian had just unleashed a barrage of S-8 rockets into the steep cliffs channelling the river – which had collapsed in a most satisfying manner, thousands of tons of rubble dropping into the narrow waterway. The waters behind the makeshift dam were already rising even as those ahead of it drained away, but the flood would find an alternative route down into the valley long before it could overflow the new obstacle. ‘Nicely done, Krikorian,’ he said into his headset. ‘Gurov, take us back to the falls. Let’s see what’s behind them.’

The Russian pilot complied, the Hind swinging about and flying along the dwindling river before crossing the falls and hovering over the pocket jungle. Stikes’s smile widened as he saw the result of his attack. The strength of the cataract had already diminished enormously, exposing a broad cave mouth behind it – was that a wall blocking the lower half? If so, it was an impressive piece of ancient construction work – and the pool at its base was rapidly draining. It would soon be possible to reach the cave without even getting one’s feet wet.

Pachac, he saw, wasn’t going to wait that long. The terrorist leader, easy to spot in his red beret, was pointing at the wall, directing men bearing assault rifles and rocket launchers across the pool.

Ready to take the cavern and its contents by force.

33

Eddie saw the Hind through the cave mouth. Even with the water still partially obscuring it, he picked out the colours of the Venezuelan flag. ‘It’s Stikes!’