Yupanqui looked them all over, and once sure he had their attention he addressed them with disdainful authority. “Listen with care. You are our prisoners, some our enemy, others because I need you. I need not explain who is who, and I need not explain that your situation is precarious. Very precarious. But there is good news. If you do as I tell you, not all of you will die.” As he said those last words, he directed his gaze at Kane.

  Haines didn’t miss a trick. He felt Yupanqui’s subtle glance at Hiram was evidence to back up what he already thought. That, before laying his hands on Atahualpa’s treasure, in order to please the Gods the Inca leader planned an offering to Pachamama and Inti. And John Haines did not need to be a world renowned professor to know what that offering would be.

  Yupanqui would offer the blood of the enemy. Catholic blood. A grisly sacrifice to the God and Goddess of sun and earth. Yupanqui would drain the lifeblood of their ancient foe at the scene of the Inca’s last stand. As well as retrieving their long-lost gold the act of revenge would strike a blow for the uprising, and solidify his belief he was indeed Pachacuti, new and chosen leader of the Inca people.

  It was Yupanqui’s destiny, and he would soar with the newly risen condor.

  It seemed it wasn’t just Haines who’d understood Yupanqui’s intimated threat. Craft and Ridley shared an anxious glance, while Kane stared at the big Incan, trying but failing to keep his rage in check. How dare you threaten members of my expedition, he thought, not grasping it was only aimed at the Catholics. Blood hammered in his temples as he thought of what the Incans would do to his friends if he couldn’t lead them to safety. He was about to make a move for Yupanqui, but Haines wisely placed a restraining hand on his chest.

  “Not now, Hiram. We wait.”

  Seething, Hiram paused.

  Angelo De La Cruz also glared at Yupanqui, his passive smile now replaced with a look of barely concealed amusement. He knew it was only a matter of time until the disgusting heathen would get his comeuppance.

  Edgewood though was far from amused. During the long, cold, and sleepless night, any remnants of anger and disappointment were usurped by the frightening reality of her situation. Her eyes wide, she stood quivering in fear. Kate knew enough about ancient cultures and what had happened to the Incans at the murderous hands of the conquistadors to know not only was her life in danger, but in all likelihood her death was decided. As her imagination ran wild, just how they’d commute that sentence chilled her to her core. Dark thoughts of sacrificial rituals under a high moon with glinting blades and solemn words and not a moment of hesitation with those blades and blood… lots of blood. Her blood. Edgewood wobbled on thin legs now drained of strength. Seeing her falter, Yupanqui smiled. I have you now, he thought, but not for long. Soon you will belong to Inti and Pachamama.

  Yupanqui motioned for Kane to approach him. Breathing deeply to control his rising anger, Hiram stepped forward. Kane was a tall man, with wide, strong shoulders. Yet he was smaller than Yupanqui, and it crossed his mind the man had grown. It was true he’d barely noticed him before the drama unfolded. Grown in stature, feeding on his own perceived power, Kane mused. He was strong looking, an oak of a man who looked capable of destruction. With hard, steely eyes to match the physique, he was physically impressive.

  But Kane wasn’t impressed. For many years he and his grandfather before him had served the native Andean people with their generosity and philanthropic ventures, and hundreds of employment opportunities. Yet, here he was, held against his will with the threat of violence hanging over them all. Again, Kane had to focus hard not to lash out at the man before him.

  He would act soon. For now, he would listen.

  “Mr Kane, I see you are uncomfortable with our arrangement. I understand. But listen to me now. You have a map, and you will give it to me. There is no point denying me, because if you do, your precious friends…” He nodded over at the huddled trio, guns raised at their backs. “Hand over the map, or I will kill someone and take it anyway.” Yupanqui smiled and held Kane’s gaze. But in three seconds the smiling eyes were replaced by ovals of flint. “Now.”

  It was a precarious, tense moment. Kane did not know just how volatile Yupanqui was, and now was not the moment to find out. He slid his backpack to the floor, and on his haunches reached into the waterproofed compartment inside. Then he paused. I could launch myself at this coward now, he thought, and take him down in seconds… but the guns… my friends… Alex. Kane gritted his teeth, retrieved the map, and with just a moment’s more hesitation handed it to Yupanqui.

  “Gracias,” he said, “Thank you. That was the wise thing to do. Keep making wise choices and your friends will not be harmed. However, if not…”

  The threat was clear, and Kane’s rage grew just that little bit more.

  Kane had memorised the details on the map two decades ago, and he didn’t think he would actually need it to find Vilcabamba. But that wasn’t the problem. He didn’t have it, which meant someone else did. And that someone was a man driven with murderous intent. And perhaps worse, if the map was somehow claimed by the Catholics, then–

  That didn’t bear thinking about. He would not allow that to happen.

  He would not allow that to happen.

  With the map now in the hands of the Inca leader, the unlikely procession of prisoners and their captors filed out of the ruins and back onto the trail. It remained almost dark due to a low sun still concealed by the magnificent but unseen mountains all around.

  Kane still led the group, but only in a physical sense after the power shift, and close behind him was a gun toting Quechuan. The boy looked only eighteen years old and thin enough that a decent breeze could topple him. But the gun in his hand empowered him, and with his leader Yupanqui looking on he was keen to impress.

  Next in the sombre convoy were Haines, Craft, and Ridley, with two more Quechuans close behind them. Further back were De La Cruz and Edgewood. Yupanqui was right on their heels and watched the Catholics with narrow-eyed suspicious for the slightest hint of aggression. The Quechuans were also on the lookout for Hooper in what they expected would be an imminent attack by the rogue American. He had guns, and wielded the element of surprise in his armoury. He could fire upon them from any angle and at any moment, and there was nothing Yupanqui could do other than stay vigilant.

  The Inca leader muttered private prayers to Inti and Pachamama to keep their protective watch over them, but in truth he wanted the man to attack. It would give him the perfect excuse to carry out his plan of revenge, and sooner rather than later.

  There would be some poetic justice if he performed his acts at Vilcabamba. But if it was to take place somewhere before they reached the fabled Inca city, so be it. The result would be the same.

  Revenge would be theirs, and it would be final.

  Escape

  Kane focused on their situation as he walked. At some point during the next couple of hours Hooper was sure to make an unwelcome appearance, and he needed to do something before then. Once Hooper was back in the picture he’d lose any last semblance of control. Also, it was just two days more hiking until they reached the real Vilcabamba, and once there Kane knew all hell would break loose.

  Kane had to act soon. Thinking hard, a plan took shape in his mind. What he needed first was a chance to confer with Ridley and the others, easier said than achieved under their current circumstances. He slowed his pace, not enough to impact further back along the line, but enough that those nearest would inadvertently close the gap to him. Despite the time pressures, Kane needed to show patience.

  It was another ten minutes of slower walking until he believed Ridley was close enough to hear him, and he chanced a quick glance behind, a flash of anger rising when he saw her. With relief, Kane caught her eye at the first attempt, and looked at her with intent and just the hint of a smile. In her hard eyes he saw defiance, anger to match his own. Alex Ridley did not scare easily, and she wasn’t afraid now. Kane had her attention, and with a deft raise of the arm he pointed to his ear.

  Listen, Ridley realised, he’s is telling me to listen. She edged a couple of feet closer to the young porter in front of her and strained hard to block out the natural sounds of the forest. Yupanqui had told them not to speak to each other, but Kane had no choice. In a voice so quiet that only the porter and Ridley could hear, Kane told a story.

  “Once upon a time a man and woman were hiking through a forest when a noise spooked them. Probably nothing, maybe a wild pig? An alien? The friends sprinted, understanding there was no danger but running anyway and relishing their freedom. Go, the man cried to the woman, and don’t stop until we’re there. Where? the woman cried back. But it didn’t matter. She would have followed him anywhere.”

  A tight smile formed on Ridley’s lips, because she knew exactly what Kane was referring to. Many years ago, maybe ten, they’d hiked the Pacific Crest Trail together, starting in Mexico and heading first through southern California and onwards into the north. They were on the trail just outside Santa Cruz, in the woods of the Big Basin Redwoods State Park, when they were startled by something in the trees. They were experienced hikers, and knew it was probably just a pig, perhaps a bear, maybe even another hiker. But Kane just laughed aloud and shouted Go, and set off at a sprint to leave Ridley in no doubt she had to follow him or be left alone with whatever monster had made them jump. So she did, and they sprinted hard for an age until they came upon a clearing at the crest of a rise to be greeted by a stunning view of Monterey Bay.

  “We’re safe now,” Kane said, hands on his waist and breathing deeply of the crisp autumn air, and he turned to hug Ridley. It was a fond memory for her, and one she treasured. She hadn’t known Kane had clung onto that memory too.

  Hearing Kane’s tale, it was obvious he was planning an escape, and his message was clear. She’d be ready, and when he said Go, they would go. But a doubt formed. Should I warn Evan and John, or does he mean just us? But Ridley knew Kane, and knew his plan must only include them, or she would have known otherwise. Ridley focused her eyes on Kane, tuning out all else other than listening for his deep voice. She walked on, adrenalin flowing and blood pounding trough her temples. She was ready.

  Kane’s plan was simple. He and Ridley would burst away at such a pace that the Quechuans could not react. They were both supremely fit and fast across the ground, and they would be out of sight in seconds. Kane didn’t believe this group of porters knew the area, and although amazingly adept in the terrain, the confusion alone would give them time to escape. It meant leaving John and Evan behind, but Kane believed they would come to no harm. He had handed over the map, and Yupanqui could now locate Vilcabamba without him. He also knew the old professor wouldn’t panic, and would assume Kane had thought it through with care. If it went as Kane expected, the commotion would prompt the Quechuans to snare the nearest prisoners to them, and by the time the dust settled and Yupanqui learned of their escape, they would be long gone.

  Once they were a safe distance, he and Ridley would deviate from that trail and source an alternative route to the lost city, and Kane had confidence he could make it there before the others. If they were very lucky, Hooper wouldn’t know of their escape. However, if they did run into the armed terrorist Kane would do anything necessary to subdue him. Considering what the rogue American Catholic had done to his friend Evan, taking down Hooper would be a pleasure.

  His plan to bolt was just a matter of timing. Too soon, and they would have too far to travel. Too late, and it gave Hooper more chance of showing up and ruining their chances. Kane considered hard, and decided.

  His plan made, Kane lengthened his stride in slow and steady increments. The line of hikers would extend, and in doing so edge him further away from the rear of the convoy. Further away from Yupanqui.

  “Han shi-gan,” he said aloud, then “Han shi-gan, gwa ga-ja.” Kane assumed correctly only Ridley knew the Korean language like he did, a skill they’d picked up during their years of Tae-kwan-do training.

  “One hour,” he had said, “One hour, and go.”

  Untitled

  Less than fifty yards away Howie Hooper crept alongside the convoy in silence. His military training kept him not only out of earshot of the group, but also invisible. However, his patience was at tipping point. Every step creeping along the trail had pushed him closer to his limits, and his mind was made up.

  He would go in hard and fast, his primary focus to shoot dead the Quechuan leader. There were six Quechuans in total, and Hooper figured he could bring them all down without reloading his automatic pistol. He may not have been the most decorated of American soldiers, but he was an excellent marksman. However, if one or more of the others got shot in the process, like Craft, or the girl Ridley, that was too bad. Nothing more than collateral damage. And if he was honest, he wouldn’t mind if that bitch Edgewood got hit by a stray bullet. In fact, he might even consider her accidental death a small bonus for his troubles. That would teach her to talk down to him.

  Hooper had only two goals now that things had gone so badly off target; secure the map, and rescue De La Cruz. If he could achieve those objectives, then he would surely gain God’s graces. However, if he could just lay his hands on the map and walk away as the only survivor, he could live with that too. He alone could then lay claim to the greatest treasure on Earth and disappear to some anonymous beach town in Central America and live out the rest of his sinful days living like a king.

  And why don’t I deserve that? he asked himself. On numerous occasions he had been willing to put his life on the line, first for a government that had easily discarded and forgotten him, and now for a God to whom he felt unworthy and unknown. No. He would make one last attempt to win God’s favour, and if not he would, for the first time, favour himself.

  Shaking off his selfish thoughts of greed and self-pity, Hooper knew he had to get his timing perfect or be out-gunned. He wondered whether the younger Quechuans would be as brave if he eliminated their leader. Maybe? But maybe not. Hooper decided it was too risky. He could not just pick off Yupanqui like a sniper, because in the unlikely event he missed, the others would then have a momentary chance to take cover. He had to hit them fast, and take them out with deadly, single shots. Surprise was his ally, but quick-fire successes were his only chance.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Hooper turned his attention to Kane, and assumed the expedition leader would have a plan too. He considered Kane a tough adversary and guessed correctly he would not go down without a fight.

  So the timing was critical. “An hour,” he whispered with a wistful look to the sky, as if for a last chance of some divine assistance. Then his eyes turned hard.

  “Strike in one hour.”

  Untitled

  The minutes dwindled towards the hour, and just as the sun sets fast in the shadows of the Andes so it rose fast now, already penetrating the forest canopy with intense heat, the hottest they’d witnessed since setting out from Cuzco. Sweat poured down Kane’s face and stung his eyes, reminding him their escape on the difficult trail would be tougher than it should have been.

  But Kane felt sure Ridley understood the plan and knew she would follow without question.

  Not long now.

  A few yards behind him, Ridley prepared herself for the escape. She tuned her senses and made her breaths deep. Soon. She noticed Kane up his speed a little. Clever boy, she thought, and adjusted her own stride to keep up. There was only the young Quechuan between them, a brainwashed kid with a gun. But she believed in Kane and knew he could deal with it.

  Just minutes…

  Earthshaker

  Yupanqui’s eyes scanned the trees with vigilance, surprised Hooper had not yet shown himself. Soon, he thought, and strained his eyes into the forest. Nothing. He was satisfied. The young Quechuans were proving dedicated to his cause, and he knew barring some terrible luck he would soon become a legendary figure in the Inca’s turbulent history. Moreover, he would lead them into a new and more powerful era than his ancestors could ever have imagined.

  Pachacuti. Earthshaker.

  Yes, I am, mused Yupanqui, his pride and vanity for a moment getting the better of his genuine beliefs. But seconds later he felt real shame, and as he raised his arms wide in a beseeching show of humility to Pachamama and Inti, the deafening sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the valley, quickly followed by another, and then a third.

  The young porter in front dropped silent to the ground, blood pulsing from a hole in his temple. Up ahead another of the Quechuans fell to his knees, clutching his side as if shot.

  And then Yupanqui felt it.

  He raised his hand to his neck, and as he pulled it away a torrent of dark red blood streamed through his fingers. The Inca leader was shot.

  At the sudden retort of the gun Kane reacted in a flash. He turned, smashed the Quechuan kid in the jaw, and without waiting to see him crumple to the ground in an unconscious heap, yelled, “Go.” And before two seconds passed he and Ridley were tearing up the trail and gone before anyone noticed.

  Craft and Haines threw themselves to the ground, unsure where the shots had come from but sure who’d fired them. But they weren’t hit, and stayed down while all around them descended into chaos.

  As he charged through the convoy of captors and captives, Hooper knew with a sinking feeling he had once more failed. Yupanqui had not gone down, and though he was bleeding from the wound in his neck, he stood his ground and fixed his rage filled eyes on the American. In desperation Hooper fired off more shots at the Incans, changing his clip as he ran, but time and again he missed and as he sprinted directly at Yupanqui, in one final effort to take him down, his own leg crumpled, his left kneecap shattered by a bullet. Intense pain consumed him, and he screamed out in fury, both from the searing pain and the sickening knowledge he was now at the mercy of the Inca leader, who he failed to kill but who would not fail to kill him.

 

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