Payback

70

The ruins reminded Dean of the miniature villages the candy maker in his old hometown set out in windows at Christmas-time to lure shoppers into the store. The ancient Inca estate was set at the side of a mountain on a narrow plateau that overlooked the valley. It glowed green in the light, its carefully fitted stones covered with moss and grass. Two large buildings perched over the cliffs; they lacked roofs but otherwise were perfectly intact, seemingly untouched by the five or six hundred years that had passed since the complex was last used. Below them were narrow terraces, once used for growing crops, which looked like steps from above.

To the north and east, the ruins of other buildings sprawled along a series of steps in the rock outcroppings. Farther north were long rectangles of stone, now just rubble; these were the remains of very large buildings that would have been used as temples or palaces.

“You’re looking at the private estate of an Inca king,” said Karr, leaning forward between the seats of the airplane. “There’s a group of rocks, a trio there. See it? They would have made sacrifices to the gods there.”

“Human?” asked Fashona.

“I think humans they just tossed down in ravines.”

“Seriously?” asked Fashona.

“Oh yeah. You ever been to Machu Picchu?” said Karr.

“No.”

“Way bigger than this. Blow you away.”

“You were there?” asked Fashona.

“Nah. Travelogue.”

Karr’s description came from one of the videos they’d been given as part of the mission briefing. Dean stared at the complex through the windscreen of the airplane, looking not at the ruins but at the hills around them. Unlike the much larger and more famous ruins Karr had mentioned, these were not open to the public; they were part of a military reservation and off-limits to the general public. A radar site a mile and a half to the north was used as a listening post to spy on the Ecuadorians across the border.

“The Incas ruled from Ecuador all the way south through Chile.” continued Karr. “Their capital was in Cusco, pretty far south of here, but they governed this area. Had some interesting beliefs.”

“Like?” asked Fashona.

“They threw little kids into the gorges so that there would be no disease.”

“For real?”

“Oh yeah. That was an honor.”

“Some honor.”

“Yeah. But their justice was pretty hard. If you slept with the wrong woman, she was buried alive and you were hanged. If you were already married, your family was slaughtered as well.”

“This is as close as I can get without being picked up on their radar,” said Fashona, banking the Cessna to the southeast. “We’re below their horizon, but we can’t push it too far. You guys are going to have a pretty good hike ahead of you.”

“So what else is new?” said Karr. “You have a good sleep, Charlie?”

“Too short.”

“Tell me about it.”

They landed near a small village a few miles downriver of the ruins. While not large, the village was used as a transportation nexus by the military installation as well as some commercial mining concerns to the south, and there was a small marina of speedboats. There was even another floatplane at the docks where they tied up. Fashona was returning east to refuel and get more supplies; he told Dean and Karr that he would be back in twenty-four hours, or sooner if they needed him.

“What do you figure a good price on a boat is here?” Karr asked as they walked toward a small shack advertising rentals.

“Don’t haggle,” Dean said. “Let’s just get going.”

“You have to haggle, Charlie. Otherwise they don’t respect ya.”

Karr began negotiating with the help of an Art Room translator. Dean turned around and scanned the dock area, feigning interest in the boats but really looking over the few locals who were sitting nearby.

A tall, lanky man with blotchy brown skin approached him and asked in Spanish if he was looking to rent an airplane. When Dean shook his head, the man asked again, this time in English.

“We just got here,” Dean told him.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going downriver to fish,” Dean said. The man looked at him suspiciously until Dean added, “And look for a little gold.”

“Many people look for gold.” The floatplane pilot nodded. Treasure hunting was a time-honored pursuit. “I know some good spots.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You want me to show you?”

“We’re really all right, thanks.”

“Maybe you’ll need another airplane.”

Dean thought reserving the man’s plane might not be a bad idea — there was always the possibility that Fashona would get tied up somewhere. But doing that might lead to more questions, and so he just shook his head.

“Two hundred dollars a day, plus fuel. A very good deal,” said the man.

“That’s a terrible deal,” said Karr, looming behind him.

“No, a very good deal.”

“Well, we don’t need a plane. Maybe tomorrow. Come on, Charlie.”

“One-fifty,” said the pilot.

“Sorry,” said Dean. “Maybe in the future.”

“We could probably work him down to a hundred,” said Karr, leading Dean to the speedboat. “Cheaper than Fashona, I’ll bet.”