In fairness to Kane, he wasn’t at all interested in personal gain. A smidge of glory, perhaps, but he didn’t want a cent of any treasure. His priority was to make sure that it ended up, whatever the treasure turned out to be, in its rightful place. Whether that be in the various museums of the Andean nations that made up Tawantinsuyu, the Quechuan name for the four quarters of the Inca empire, most notably Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Ecuador, or divided up between direct descendants of the Incas themselves. He couldn’t suppress the wry grin that came when he thought of his trusted friend Sonco being handed a giant sack of gold or a cheque for more money than he could even imagine. Nothing would make Kane happier than helping some of the world’s poorest people by simply giving them what was rightly theirs, and it inspired him more than anything else.

  And when all that had finished perhaps he could convince Ridley to get serious.

  Meanwhile, some of the others were making plans too.

  The youngster Umaq Huamani was in tatters. What should he do? He knew he needed to be strong for his family and commit himself to Edgewood. He would not only be securing his family’s future, but his own. However, Yupanqui scared him. But more than that, when he searched his heart he found he agreed with the man. His family were typical of most Quechuan families these days. They were spiritual by nature, and weak, and didn’t limit their faith to the traditional pagan Gods, but to the Catholic Gods of the European invaders. When he dug deep into his heart he knew that they were wrong. He was Quechuan, as Yupanqui had declared, which meant he was also Incan. Where was his pride? He was suddenly awash with shame. Shame that his forefathers had forgotten their traditions. Shame that their ancestors were beaten and destroyed by the so few Spanish. Shame that they had betrayed Inti and Pachamama. Yupanqui was right.

  Umaq had heard whispers of an uprising. There had been incidents in the capital Lima and beyond, isolated cases of Catholic churches and monuments being vandalised, and priests and worshippers being attacked. Even the famous statue of Francisco Pizarro was destroyed, despite being moved to a less antagonising location in the city. They were sporadic and rare events, but little by little they grew in frequency. Something was definitely stirring in the capital, and more so, in the hearts of the Incan descendants.

  Umaq had tried hard to find the right moment to talk to Edgewood. He’d thought long and hard about what to do, of which way to turn, but now the choice was an easy one. He was loyal to his family, of course he was. But things had changed. Umaq had seen the light. Now he would be loyal to his ancestry and serve Yupanqui. He would still be doing what it took to secure a better future for his family. But now it would be on the side of his kin, of his Incan ancestors. He would rise with the condor and he would stand with Yupanqui.

  By luck or divine intervention, Howie Hooper was lucky Muddy Waters was gone. To Howie it mattered little how. That part of his mission was complete. His next target was the old man, John Haines. He’d made his plan, and he just needed to wait for the perfect moment. He had a deadline of midnight tonight to get the job done, and since it was already late afternoon, time was running out. But he was a professional. He had done this kind of thing many times. Shit, I’m ex-military, he thought. Piece of cake.

  This time there would be no mistakes.

  Origins

  December 24th, 1994

  Halong Bay, Vietnam

  The sun shone so brightly off the sea Kane had to shield his eyes. The water itself was the most iridescent emerald green, and it mesmerised Kane as he tacked the tiny rented yacht across the wide expanses of north Vietnam’s Halong Bay, his old mate Evan by his side. Other than an almost imperceptible swaying, the calm water and silence set Kane’s mind drifting to his recent revelation.

  In the university summer break of 1994 Hiram and Evan went backpacking in south east Asia. They wanted adventure, and in Kane’s case a little soul searching. He’d worked out what he wanted from his life, but his father wasn’t pleased. Hiram desired nothing more than to follow his heritage and become, for want of a better term, an explorer. His dad, who had not inherited an adventurous spirit from his own parents, thought it foolish. But Kane was determined, and half the purpose of this trip was to prove to himself–and his father–he could survive in the world alone.

  Like so many backpackers, they began their adventure in Bangkok. But they soon grew tired of the raucous parties and loud, obnoxious tourists, and headed instead into the wilds of Cambodia. Kane had wanted to visit the famed temples of Angkor ever since hearing his grandfather’s stories about their beauty and mystery, and he wasn’t disappointed. The Kingdom of Cambodia was only just opening its borders to tourists in the aftermath of the heinous Khmer Rouge era, and Kane was awestruck.

  For several days they peddled rented bicycles from one magnificent temple structure to another. Evan revelled in the unique photography opportunities while Kane spent hours lost amongst the ruins. Imagination running wild, he tried in vain to conceive of what it was like during the 12th century Khmer heyday, and marvelled at the sheer size and splendour of the main temple of Angkor Wat. Clambering among the charismatic stylised heads of The Bayon Temple he struggled to comprehend the foresight to build such enormous artefacts, and how it was even possible so many centuries earlier. It astonished Kane.

  But what most struck him was the enigmatic and mysterious temple in the walled city of Ta Prohm. He had never seen anything quite like it. As he passed through the outer walls of the complex, stepping over and around the giant fallen stones and ducking through low arches, then climbing over enormous roots of trees that paid no respect to human endeavour and had reclaimed the structure for themselves, Kane started to realise what made him tick. There he was in an ancient temple, deep in a wild jungle on the other side of the world and all alone except for one friend, a couple of other like-minded tourists, and a dozen curious macaque monkeys and who knows what other creatures.

  He was in his element, and he knew then that it’s what he was meant to be doing. It didn’t matter what his father thought. He would follow in the footsteps of his predecessors Patrick and Curly Kane, and would spend his in search of adventure. When just a boy Kane’s grandad spent hour after hour telling him stories of his and his own father’s adventures around the world, so it was in his mind as well as in his blood, and in his grandfather he saw a man who’d lived a joyful and exciting life without regrets, and who still had a sparkle in his eye to rival the shiniest of Inca gold.

  Even though he was young Kane knew he’d never be motivated by wealth. It was adventure he sought, going in search of myths and legends and ancient artefacts, and though they’d of course be valuable, often even priceless, Kane wasn’t interested in their monetary worth. Only the historical significance of the places and their secrets would inspire him.

  In the dark and moss lined corridors of Ta Prohm’s eerie central temple, Kane sat on an upturned stone that had likely lain that way for hundreds of years. There was nobody around him, and he sat in total silence. In his mind’s eye, he saw his grandfather Curly, and his great-grandfather Patrick, hacking their way through the dense jungles of Peru. He knew what it was they were searching for and had heard often about their experiences. Peru. The Andes. Synonymous with adventure. Synonymous with lost treasure; Atahualpa’s gold… The lost city of the Incas.

  Vilcabamba.

  He’d been to Peru once before, and he had to return. That was his destiny.

  Hiram Kane was going to find Vilcabamba.

  “Hiram.” It was the second time that Evan had called to his friend. “Kane, are you with me?”

  At last hearing his friend’s voice, Kane snapped back from his daydream. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

  Just then, Craft pointed to something on the horizon, and Kane turned to look. He didn’t see anything.

  “There, can’t you see it?” Evan asked, edging nearer his friend.

  “See what? I don’t…” He didn’t finish his sentence. Without ceremony his oldest friend pushed him over the side, and roaring with laughter somersaulted himself into the warm waters of The Gulf of Tonkin.

  Kane didn’t care. In fact, he didn’t have a care in the world at that moment, his wide smile stretching from ear to ear.

  “What are you so happy about?” Craft asked, “what’s tickled your fancy?”

  “The future.”

  Evan didn’t understand Hiram’s short and cryptic reply. “Okay, clever clogs, I know you’re smarter than me, but what the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I’ve seen the future, and it looks pretty damn good.” He paused for effect. “I’m going to become an explorer."

  A Heavy Burden

  Being in mountainous jungle seemed almost second nature to Kane, and he always felt aware of and in tune with the rugged beauty of his surroundings. He admired with awe the diversity of plant and bird life all around him, and given time he could spend hours gazing into the shadowy trees in the hopes of seeing something new.

  Kane was in his element, though that was an understatement as wild as the Andean terrain itself. Nothing made him happier than an extreme trek, especially when in search of something as fabled and mysterious as Vilcabamba. At least in his mind, Kane was always planning a new trip somewhere, his thirst for adventure insatiable. Friends often teased him for his undisguised love of Indiana Jones, and while he couldn’t deny the similarities, Kane would retort and say, “At least my adventures are real, and I don’t wear a hat.”

  Fit, healthy, and with rugged determination, Kane was almost as built for the Andean habitat as the Quechuan contingent. He owned lungs that never tired and limbs that walked and climbed forever without fatigue. He was a machine, and like all machines he operated best with no outside influences.

  But that’s not how he felt today. His physical body felt fine, but something he couldn’t see or feel was layering like a fine and darkening mist around the periphery of his mind. The verdant greens of leaves and snaking vines seemed muted, as if they too lacked vitality, and as ever, the sun beneath the jungle canopy filtered to weakness.

  He forged ahead of the group, his purposeful strides leaving the others behind as he sought out space and time to consider what perturbed him. From almost the first minute Hooper’s presence had occupied his thoughts, and despite witnessing the American help Muddy, and show what seemed to be genuine sadness when he’d been hurt, there had always been doubts nagging at Kane’s conscience. But there was something more, now, and the thickening mists in his mind denied him clarity of thought. Were there any signs? Anything I’ve missed? Edgewood and Hooper seemed close, at least they spoke a lot in private. But so what? That didn’t mean anything. Did it? They’d arrived together, but as they told him, they’d met only once before at the Autumn gathering in New York. Meeting again at the airport in London before the flight to Peru was mere coincidence, at least that’s what they’d said.

  Kane also noticed that Evan had seemed distant for a couple of days, but attributed exhaustion and altitude for Evan’s jokes drying up. But now he thought about it, Evan had been spending a lot of time talking to Kate Edgewood, though that wasn’t surprising, considering Craft was known as an outrageous yet terrible flirt. It was as if his usual upbeat persona had become sullied by conversations with Edgewood. Very strange, as Kane believed nothing could dampen his friend’s spirit.

  Figure in Muddy’s accidents, too, and Kane had to admit there was a lot on his mind. But there was more, he knew it. If only the mist would clear, then maybe he could work it out. Was it the Quechuans? Were they a little more aloof than usual, less jovial? Even Sonco had seemed out of sorts, the reliable life and soul of any expedition. Maybe Kane was just feeling the strains of the jungle himself. He was past forty now, and perhaps his physical peak was behind him, though he didn’t believe that and knew he was in great shape. Damn, what the hell is it?

  Without noticing, Kane found himself a good ten minutes ahead of the others, and snagged the chance of a break. Finding a rare patch of sun against a rock face, he took a seat, enjoying the warmth on his face and a cool drink from his canteen. Thinking of his friend Sonco, perhaps there had been a little tension between him and his team of Quechuan porters. Sonco was an excellent leader who always kept his men in good spirits, commanding automatic respect because of his unrivalled experience as a guide and his affable, inclusive manner. But for the first time in what must be a dozen expeditions with Sonco, Kane realised his friend had been acting a touch strange. Why was that? Like Evan, Sonco was a fun-loving and happy-go-lucky character, yet also like Evan had appeared subdued. Why didn’t I notice this sooner? Kane chided himself.

  Sonco had recruited a new cook for this expedition, the big fellow they called Yupanqui. Kane had never met him before but, as always, he trusted Sonco’s choice. Yupanqui had proven himself an excellent addition to the team, and his meals had gone down well with the group. Sure, he was a little distant, and rarely spoke to the foreigners, but being a friend wasn’t in his job description. Now though, as Kane pictured the cook, he had seen a glaring, steely look in his hard eyes.

  When Sonco had first introduced Yupanqui, Kane put him in his early twenties, his bulk down to good appetite and his strength that typical of a native farmer. Now Kane knew beneath that exterior lived a serious man, who chose his words with care and whose attitude was that of someone on a mission. Kane hadn’t witnessed him undermine Sonco at any point, but the more Kane thought about it, Sonco did appear to shrink a little in his presence, as if the roles were reversed, and Yupanqui was team leader and Sonco the subservient porter.

  Kane couldn’t understand it. Sonco was the bravest man he’d ever met, and they had been through a lot together. For over twenty years Sonco had been a close and trusted friend of the Kane family, and Hiram had never known anything other than an open, honest and genuine man.

  Kane was worried. Sonco’s rare change in demeanour meant something was wrong, filling Kane with a sense of foreboding. But Sonco was a proud Quechuan man, and if asked, Kane knew he’d dismiss his fears with a smile.

  But something nefarious was going on that Kane couldn’t fathom, something festering in the atmosphere that felt bigger than him, bigger than the expedition to find Vilcabamba. Something sinister. He just didn’t know what. That comment from his grandfather surfaced once more, slow at first, like a winter sun over distant hills, but as the mists cleared, the sun brightened to illuminate the meaning of those words, and a sudden icy fist clenched hold of Kane’s heart.

  The words seemed so simple: ‘a heavy burden,’ and yet nothing back then had suggested their enormity. But now it was closing in around him, Kane saw how prophetic they were. He knew now that it was major, much more important than himself, and that somehow he held in his hands the power to prevent some catastrophe, some act of unimaginable terror, and it was all linked to Vilcabamba. It was all about the lost city, and the hidden Inca treasure unseen for almost half a millennium.

  It was a race against time, Kane now knew, and one that if he didn’t win, would see the world as he knew it changed for all eternity.

  Angelo De La Cruz

  The last of the day’s sun filtered away to nothing, and darkness fell over camp. A general feeling of exhaustion settled over the group after a long day of many uphill miles, and most had eaten a quick dinner and retired to their tents. It was the opportunity Angelo De La Cruz had been waiting for. He motioned to Edgewood and Hooper to follow him to the far end of the camp, and they duly obliged. In his calm but strong voice, with perfect English and the merest trace of a Spanish accent, he addressed the two of them.

  “Let me take a moment to remind you why you’re here. You may think it’s because your… friend… Ferdinand Benedix, encouraged you to join our mission. That’s only half correct. You’re here because I wanted you here. But then again, even that is only a half-truth. God is my master, and I answer only to him, and when it became clear we’d need a dedicated team to once more conquer those uneducated heathens, then that is what I’ve put together.

  “You are Catholics. Which means you have a duty to your God to act upon his will. His will demands your action when needed, and He needs it now. There is an uprising of a people that are the very antithesis of our beliefs, an antithesis of what is true. The Incas, nothing more than pagan peasants, have some notion of importance, and the soft utterance of some long forgotten fairy tale has given a few of their number a belief that they should rise against us. They are poor villagers, little more than a nation of discarded slaves. Yet, it is true they once held great power in these lands, and along with that power they had unimaginable wealth. Our forefathers, the conquistadors, took only a matter of days and weeks to bring that empire to its knees, and plundered that wealth and took it home to Spain to serve a more worthy master. But some of that wealth eluded us and now eludes even the heathens that buried it somewhere in this God forsaken jungle in these Godless mountains. They want to rise up, though there is no chance of their success. However, if the lost treasure did somehow find its way into the hands of the heathens again, then the Catholic church would face an unprecedented threat. It has fallen upon me to stop that. And I must stop it at any cost.

  “Together with the two of you, we have the necessary skills to accomplish our mission, and we will succeed. But, I need to be sure–are you prepared to do whatever is necessary for that success? I have to know. God demands to know.”

  He stared at Edgewood, saw a coldness in her eyes, and had no doubt she was capable of anything. She nodded, and held his gaze without emotion. His partner Ferdinand Benedix believed in her, and he believed in her too.