“As you can see, Mr Kane, I am now in command of this mission, as is my duty.”

  “What duty?” spat Ridley. “The Quechuans are peaceful people… why do you have guns?”

  “I suppose that is a fair question to an ignorant European, so allow me to enlighten you. I was once known as Yupanqui Atoc, descendent of the Q’ero people, and living member of a bloodline of Inca Kings. I’m directly descended from Cápac Yupanqui, fifth Sapa Inca of the Kingdom of Cuzco. It is true I was once a cook. But no longer. I am the Inca Yupanqui. I am the chosen one, the chosen Pachacuti, which to you ignorant heathens means…”

  “I know what it means,” said Haines, cutting off Yupanqui in a quiet yet authoritative voice. “Or, at least, I know what you think it means.” Haines raised his voice so the others could hear. “The Q’ero Indians have, for five hundred years, clung to an ancient prophecy that a new Pachacuti will come, meaning ‘a turning over of time and space.’ It also means ‘earth-shaker,’ or an event that signals the end of one cycle of history and the beginning of a new one. By giving yourself that name, you’re declaring the start of a new period in history.”

  Yupanqui looked surprised by Haines knowledge. “Very impressive, professor. You know your history. But does that mean you accept and understand our mission?”

  “I understand how the ancients could hold onto such beliefs. But you’re a young man, a man who’s grown up in a modern world, a world with radio and television and internet. You’re educated, which means you should know it’s just tradition, folk stories passed between generations, and not to be taken in a literal sense. Of course, that could also be said about the Catholics,” he said, pointing to the prisoners. “I mean no offence, however, at its best religion is just a collection of stories. You need not do this. Nobody else needs to get hurt.” John looked over at Evan, lucky he hadn’t been killed. “We can keep these two detained, lead them back to Cuzco and hand them over to the proper authorities.”

  Yupanqui just glared at the professor, who gamely tried to buy some time. In reality, Haines had a lot more sympathy for the Incas than he let on. There would be bloodshed, almost guaranteed, and he couldn’t risk appealing to the man’s vanity. He also believed in his heart that anything any of them said now would be futile. He saw nothing but victory in Yupanqui’s eyes, and it frightened him.

  “At first I thought you understood,” replied the Inca leader, “but it is clear you do not. We are just a little group in these mountains. But a wide-scale uprising has been growing for one hundred years. We are a small part of it, though we are on the front lines, so to speak. The mission to locate Atahualpa’s treasure is more important than ever. It seems you have learned their plans, but these… these Catholics… they are the terrorists. Not us. They are here to steal the gold and use it against us. It is my duty and my honour to make sure it can not and will not happen.” He stepped closer to the detained Catholics, and while De La Cruz remained defiant and unmoved, Edgewood visibly shrank away from the big Incan. “As I said,” Yupanqui continued, “I have been chosen, and anyone who tries to stop me will pay the ultimate price.”

  And all those who saw the look of steel in Yupanqui’s eyes knew he was deadly serious.

  “So what now?” asked Kane, trying to keep the rising anger from his voice.

  “What now? Well, Mr Kane, we sleep here for a few hours and continue to Vilcabamba in the morning. You know the way, and you will lead us there. And once we are among the hallowed stones of the lost city, we will have our glorious victory. First the glory, and then you will all witness the worthy revenge against the Catholics for which the Inca people have waited almost five hundred years.”

  Kane thought on his feet. Yupanqui was right, he knew the way to Vilcabamba, now almost certain he could get there with or without the map. But Kane saw a chance to stall. “The thing is, I don’t know the way to the lost city. The map is fake,” he lied, “created as a way to make money by leading people into the jungle. The lost city has never been found, which you have to agree is good for business.” Kane hung his head in apparent shame, but Yupanqui didn’t buy it.

  “Mr Kane, I admire your attempt to mislead me. But you and your family have a fine reputation in the field of exploration, and you especially are known for your great conscience and admirable dignity. You would not lie to these people, and you would not lie to the Quechuans. Sadly for you, or perhaps not, depending on how you see your role in this now, you and your map will lead us to our destiny, and you will be remembered as the man who found Vilcabamba. That is your destiny, isn’t it, Mr Kane? Fulfil your destiny and help the Inca fulfil theirs. The glory will be ours to share.”

  Kane took a second to appraise their dire situation. Outnumbered and out-gunned, he saw little chance of escape. For now, he had no choice but to push ahead, go along with the expedition and let the drama unfold, at least until an opportunity presented itself to either escape or apprehend all the terrorists.

  His one regret was that his most trusted ally Sonco was no longer by his side.

  A Fading Alliance

  Howie Hooper sat as still as the immovable stones around him, invisible to human eyes and just fifty yards from where Yupanqui conducted his sinister speech. Hooper heard everything, and it was all he could do to restrain himself going into the camp and shooting dead the oafish native right there and then. But by sheer effort of will he refrained, knowing that the Quechuans now controlled almost all the weapons, and being tied up, Edgewood and De La Cruz could do nothing to help.

  Hooper would bide his time. It was dark and risky. But when the moment came, and using his military training, he would ghost into camp and neutralise the enemy, one heathen obstacle at a time.

  Howie had heard enough of the speech and the following discussion to know that come first light the group, still led by Kane, would head further into the mountains, and all the way to Vilcabamba. He would flank them, and when chances arose he would take out the natives. And more important to the mission, sometime between now and their arrival at the lost city he would kill the Inca leader Yupanqui.

  Edgewood couldn’t believe her plans–and those of the Eagle Alliance–had unravelled before her eyes. It was a devastating blow, and her anger raged just below the surface. But what was strange to her was how calm Angelo De La Cruz seemed. He hadn’t uttered a word since they’d been apprehended by the Quechuans, and hadn’t even struggled. His composure unnerved her. She herself felt genuine fear for her life, and now cursed herself for being in that stinking jungle in the first place. She looked at De La Cruz, his eyes passive in the gentle flicker of the nearby fire. He seemed relaxed while she was a seething, nervous wreck.

  “What will they do to us?” Her voice wavered, the tears imminent. “They will kill us, I know it.”

  The Spaniard looked in her direction without emotion. His face took on a ponderous attitude, as if considering that, yes, they might just kill them. “It is true, they might, though I don’t think they will get the chance. Even if they kill us, have no fear. As I have always said, we are only pawns in a much greater game than just us. If it is what God needs of us, to die for His cause, then that is what we will do. There can be no greater glory than becoming a martyr in His name.” De La Cruz appeared enraptured to some unseen deity, his eyes reverent. “But, like I said, it will not come to that. Hooper is out there, and he will come. Have faith, Kate, have faith.” He smiled and looked away.

  But in that moment faith was the last thing Kate Edgewood possessed. If they needed to rely on that useless Hooper to survive then they were as good as dead already.

  Edgewood was raised Catholic, but rather than practice the faith she had neglected it for more than a decade. Instead she had a new religion, and it didn’t involve supernatural beings and worn out old fairy tales. Edgewood’s new religion was gold, and Kate worshipped it. She was only on this expedition to acquire some of her own, and not just any gold; Inca gold. The stuff of legend. The stuff dreams were made of. But her dream was slipping away.

  She had just one more chance to turn this to her advantage, and she knew just the person to help.

  Prisoners

  Kane and the others were held under close guard, the Catholics guarded even more closely in another area of the ruins. All any of them could do was get a little rest. As sleep eluded Kane and his friends, they tried communicating in whispers, confident the porters only understood their native Quechuan and a little Spanish.

  “Well, this is another fine mess you’ve got me into,” whispered Evan in his best Oliver Hardy voice. Despite his injury, at least he wasn’t panicked. “On a serious note, do we have a plan?”

  Kane remained quiet for a moment. It was almost pitch black, the only light the distant flicker of a dying fire. But there was enough of an ambient glow for Craft, Ridley and Haines to see that Kane was not happy. With something playing out in his mind he stayed silent for several minutes. But at last he spoke, and though his tone was quiet, the determination could not be missed.

  “We cannot underestimate what we’re dealing with here. Make no mistake, we’re in a deadly situation. Out there we’ve got that loose cannon Hooper, and I know we haven’t seen the last of him. He’s armed and unhinged…” Kane stopped, his disappointment clear. “I should have known… I… since the first day I…”

  “You did notice, Hiram,” said Ridley, “It’s the rest of us who didn’t respond. We’re to blame, not you.”

  Kane ignored his friend. “It’s my mission Alex, and I’m responsible. My hunch was that Hooper caused Muddy’s accident, and I should’ve stopped him. Anyway, he will be back, and this time I’ll be ready. On the other hand is Yupanqui, who’s no fool. He’s convinced the others to join his mission, and although we can handle them individually, we now know they have guns.

  “But more importantly they have a charismatic leader who’s invoked their Inca heritage and his role in the prophecy. They will follow him to the end of his mission, which makes them dangerous. I say we go along with Yupanqui’s commands, and I’ll lead us to the real Vilcabamba. Though no one knows for sure my grandfather and I believe the lost city is vast. With a little luck and teamwork, we can use the ruins to escape.”

  They settled down as best they could, each processing the dire situation in their own way. Calmest among them was the old professor, John Haines. Belying his advanced years, his mind was as sharp as a man a quarter his age, and despite the actual danger they faced, he remained composed. He knew whatever the outcome they will have done the best they could to resolve the situation in the safest way possible. Moreover, he had unshakable belief in Hiram Kane.

  Haines had known Kane for almost two decades, since the young Hiram had first attended his popular lectures at the University of East Anglia, and they’d become close friends. Over the years John had seen how dedicated and resourceful the man could be, and knew anyone foolish enough to cross Hiram Kane had better be prepared to lose.

  Though his injury was painful, Evan knew with a little more rest he’d be ready to do whatever Hiram needed. Like Haines, Craft had an almost reverential faith in his oldest friend to get them out of their predicament alive. There was just something special about Hiram, always was. He was brave. Resilient. Confident. Kane had all those attributes and more, and had displayed them over many years of adventures and by faultlessly leading his expeditions. Though Craft himself hadn’t always been there in person to witness it, he had heard and seen enough to know that under these terrible, dire circumstances, they were in the best possible hands.

  And sat beside them, knees clutched to her chest and the hint of a smile on her face, was Alexandria Ridley. She would rather not have found herself caught in the middle of a double-edged terrorist incident. But there was nothing Ridley liked more than an adventure, and nobody she’d rather be alongside on an adventure than Kane. She knew Kane was at his best with the odds stacked against him, because she’d seen the man in action and knew the depth of his will and instincts. And like the others, she knew with zero doubt there was no one better on Earth to get them through this than Kane.

  They would get through this. Ridley knew it. They all knew it. Kane knew it. But what none of them knew, what they couldn’t know, was just what horrors they would all face before the denouement of this extraordinary saga.

  8

  Day 8

  A Power Shift

  Just before the following dawn, Kane emerged from a poor sleep into a changed world. Power had shifted, and he was no longer in charge. Kane didn’t seek power, but when your position is the leader of a dangerous expedition in the Andes, retaining control was essential. It was his job. But not any longer, that position now held by the man they thought a cook. Yupanqui was clearly a dangerous man, though his apparent intentions were good in terms of helping the Quechuan people. Bud good intentions did not justify violence. Kane had to assume he was capable of anything.

  Likewise, Kane had no doubt the Eagle Alliance possessed murderous intentions. Evan was shot, and they were lucky there hadn’t been more injuries, even deaths, when they tried to overpower the Catholics.

  But the most pressing issue now, their frightening reality, was that Kane and his friends were caught between two deadly and ancient rivals, and their very lives were at stake.

  Both sides were driven by religion, a notion that had always troubled Kane. For two decades–longer, if he counted his childhood adventures–the world’s religions had fascinated him, not for their philosophies and flawed systems of blind faith, but for the products of those faiths. The magnificent temples, mosques, and cathedrals, and within their paintings and sculptures inspired by religion left him in awe. In fact, religion has inspired ninety percent of all art throughout history, but not, Kane knew, because of divine intervention. Cultures from all over the world, each claiming their God was the one true God, had somehow created beautiful structures, monuments, and works of art in the name of their God. They couldn’t all be right. In fact, Kane knew, they were all wrong.

  In simple terms, the human race has been remarkable at expressing its feelings, and has evolved so far that it could develop those expressions into mind blowing megalithic buildings that have stood for hundreds and thousands, if not tens of thousands of years, all the result of humanity’s limitless imaginations and technical brilliance.

  And yet here they were on the verge of a disaster at the hands of religious zealots, and that thought angered Kane more than he believed possible. It had, he realised, become personal. People he loved and cared about were in direct danger because of religion. It sickened him.

  He did not want to die, but he was not afraid to. Hiram Kane had already lived an extraordinary life, and if he was to die in this drama, he would die a fulfilled man. But the fact John and Evan and Alex, not to mention Sonco’s young team, might be killed by the hands of terrorist cowards instilled in him a feeling rarely felt.

  Rage.

  Blinding rage. And yet it was more than that. If the Catholics prevailed, they would no doubt kill all those they considered heathens, including Sonco and his family, and countless other thousands and eventually millions of their people. If Yupanqui triumphed, then the opposite would be true. He mentioned a foretelling, a five hundred year prophecy that stated when the sacred condor rose, as he claimed it had, then the new Pachacuti would begin, and he would be its leader.

  What Kane knew about Inca mythology suggested Yupanqui had assumed the role of the Incan ‘earth shaker,’ or destroyer of worlds, and that could only mean bad news for non-Incans. It was a fact; the Incan people had suffered unimaginable horrors at the hands of the Spanish conquistadors, all but wiping them and the memory of them from the planet. And it was clear Yupanqui wanted revenge. Well, Kane understood the principle, but killing people was never the right way to do it, even if they would kill you first, something he was sure the Eagle Alliance intended. Kane recalled what Gandhi once said; an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. The way the world was shaping up, with war and death and destruction an epidemic on every continent, those prophetic words were more relevant now than ever.

  Kane’s thoughts turned to Edgewood. The young scholar confused him. Why was she really here? What were her true intentions? He did not believe her capable of murder, or could even be complicit in someone’s death, and assumed she was only there for more personal reasons. Like gold. She was using the Catholics, the way they were all using him. He vowed to get to the bottom of that side issue before this was over. But for now he had to focus on what was best for his friends.

  Destiny

  Dawn as always was cold, but not only physically; the mood in camp was icy, as if they all knew death hung in the air. Kane had an ominous hunch. One way or another, he believed many of those in the collective group of fourteen would die before nightfall.

  However, to Kane’s surprise the Quechuan porters greeted Kane and his friends with breakfast and tea.

  “There is no reason we should not be civilised, is there?” said Yupanqui as he approached. “In truth, my people have nothing against you and your friends.”

  Kane noticed the privilege of food was not extended to the Catholics. They had a little water, but that was all. Whatever Kane thought of that, he at least understood. They were the hated enemy.

  Once the nefarious darkness had given way to a clear yet no less ominous morning, all prisoners assembled in the centre of camp under the armed scrutiny of the Quechuans. They waited. Tension charged the frigid air with static-like electricity, and as the morning’s earliest lukewarm rays crept through the ruins, it did little to enhance hope of a day any better than the last.