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.