Yupanqui survived the assassination attempt and ordered his young charges to cease their own shooting. As he fell, Hooper had dropped his weapon, the retrieved gun now trained back on him by the ice-cold steadiness of Yupanqui himself. Hooper looked him in the eye. He saw only hatred, and expected the big heathen to shoot him right there and then. But the bullet did not come. Hooper craved death, wished it to arrive, for in that moment he had never felt so low. He had failed again, the latest in a long line of failures, and he could not take it anymore. “Do it,” he screamed, spittle flying as the blood drained from his destroyed leg. “Do it,” he said again, quieter now as a realisation dawned that Yupanqui would not shoot him.

  Hooper closed his eyes, the pain forgotten, now certain the hated leader of the enemy had in store for him a much worse fate than death by gunshot.

  Yupanqui assessed the scene and soon gathered Kane and Ridley had gone. That was okay. Nobody said this would be easy. Victory had waited five hundred years. It could wait a few more hours.

  Haines and Craft had also noticed their friend’s absence, and before Craft could panic and wonder why Kane abandoned them, Haines placed a restraining hand on his shoulder and said in a quiet yet authoritative tone, “It’s alright, Evan, they’ll be back for us.”

  And Craft knew it was true.

  Amidst all the mayhem, Edgewood had dived to the floor and buried her head in her hands, sure she was about to die. After what had felt like hours but was just a dozen seconds, she at last raised herself from the dirt, amazed to find herself unhurt. Looking about, she was surprised to see Hooper beside her, prone, inert and obviously bleeding to death. Her survival instincts kicked in. What does this mean for me? It can’t be good, she thought, and closed her eyes. And yet?

  And for the first time since the entire narrative had unfolded, the implacable face of Angelo De La Cruz wore a worried look. The disposable help had failed, and he looked toward a sky that broiled with dark intent. For a long minute he searched the brooding sky for a sign, and though he saw nothing other than the constant swirling of ominous clouds, his concern was momentary.

  His fate–and the fate of the mission–was now in God’s hands, and De La Cruz smiled.

  Just as it should be, he thought, just as it should be.

  They sprinted flat out for sixty seconds, paused for a moment to look behind them and catch a breath, then sprinted flat out for ten more. At the giddying altitude of 4,550 metres, just hiking was a challenge, but to run at real speed left them exhausted. They were not, however, short of motivation, and knew being caught could prove fatal.

  Kane and Ridley struck lucky that the trail was more or less flat, the gentle undulations and twisting turns not too precarious along that particular stretch. Kane believed they were clear, but he kept them moving anyway. Putting distance between themselves and the armed Quechuans was of course prudent, but so was taking a break, and after a further thirty minutes of hard graft Kane allowed them time to rest. Ridley sat beside him on a fallen log, and with a sideways glance she shot him a mischievous grin. “You do love an adventure, don’t you Kane.”

  Unable to deny that truth, but unwilling to find what had happened fun, Kane didn’t speak. But after a gentle nudge from Ridley, a half smile cracked across his jaw. “If we all get out of this alive, and if Atahualpa’s gold ends up in the rightful hands, only then will I consider this adventure fun.” He kept his face almost straight. “But…” He looked at his old friend, amazed at how beautiful she still looked despite all they had been through. He couldn’t help himself. “But you’re right… I do love an adventure.”

  On they walked, mindful of their voices in case Hooper was nearby. They didn’t know exactly what had transpired back among the group, which meant they could not know the American was badly injured and detained. They just hoped their friends were unharmed and had survived the attack.

  Andean weather was a series of extremes between hot and very hot, and cold to freezing, and by late morning the jungle heat had risen to ferocious. Their clothes clung to them and sweat stung their eyes, and though both Kane and Ridley were excellent athletes in great shape they were feeling the strain. But as each mile passed Kane felt more secure, certain they were not being pursued. Small mercies, Kane mused, a trademark wry grin out of place in that moment.

  But the reality of it was that he and Ridley now faced a race against time. They simply had to arrive at the real lost city first, because Kane knew what would happen if either terrorist group laid their hands on the riches.

  If Yupanqui and his men found and seized the gold ahead of them, the only good thing that could be said about that was that they were the rightful heirs. But that was stretching the truth. Yes, they were genuine descendants, but they were descendants with a dangerous agenda, and would not be honouring their Incan ancestors in a justified, honourable manner. Revenge was for the weak, an ancient notion. If they did retrieve the lost hoards, and distributed that wealth among the millions of poor Quechuans across all the former Inca nations, then that would be a fitting way to honour their people, their ancient traditions and their Gods. But that was not their aim, and Kane knew they would spill blood to avenge the Spanish conquistadors who’d so brutally destroyed the Inca civilisation half a millennium ago.

  If the Catholics regained control of their situation, however, then Kane believed things would plummet to even worse depths, in lieu of what had happened on this expedition so far. He didn’t believe this small band of Catholics were on a direct mission ordained by the Vatican. But Kane thought if the Vatican did discover some of their subjects possessed the lost Inca riches, then they would surely stake their claim. If that happened, then the gold’s rightful heirs would never see a single penny’s worth of the value, and would continue to suffer harsh and relentless poverty. If the Vatican did not involve themselves, De La Cruz and his Eagle Alliance would be free to wage an internal war against the uprising, crushing the Incans to death as their forefathers had five centuries previous.

  Either way, the result would devastate the modern day Quechuans.

  Kane knew there were limits to what he could do. He was just one man, with an able sidekick in Ridley, and for all he knew, Evan and Haines were out of commission and unable to help. And Sonco was missing in action. Kane though was not a quitter and would do all he could to prevent either side claiming the treasure.

  So it came down to doing what he had always planned to do. Kane would make it to Vilcabamba, the first westerner to lay eyes on the site for hundreds of years.

  And once he was there, he would do everything in his power to prevent a war.

  Realisations

  The blow was brutal. Already weak from severe blood loss Hooper collapsed to the ground. He couldn’t raise his head, though his eyes remained clear, and anyone who saw those eyes in that moment knew that behind them lurked murder.

  If he could just get up he would slit the throat of Yupanqui and smile as he did it. Frustration ruled his world in that moment, and it hurt as much as his injuries. He had failed, and now he was being punished, not only by Yupanqui but by his own leader. De La Cruz refused to acknowledge him, and Hooper knew he’d been forsaken by the man whom he had followed into the jungle and tried to save. And if there were ever any last doubts, he knew he was once and for all forsaken by God.

  It was now obvious that he would die there in those mountains, but it would not be the glorious death he always imagined. They would string him up like a pig, and gut him while everyone looked on. Except he would not be a martyr. What had he achieved? Nothing. All his life had been one disappointment after another. Hooper agreed to join this mission after his old associate Ferdinand Benedix convinced him it was his path to atonement, a way to make up for all of his failures, and a way to ensure a spot in God’s heaven.

  Despite his pain, Hooper managed to smile at the irony of it all. He was there in that Godforsaken place, on a mission for God himself, and rather than be hailed for his valiance, instead he was being forgotten and left to rot.

  Well, he thought, I’m not finished yet. I’ll show them.

  I’ll show them all.

  Twenty miles away

  Sonco Amaru sunk to his knees. Quietness surrounded him, other than the windswept rustle of the nearby trees and distant hum of the rampaging Urubamba River far below.

  He had left his old friend Kane at the Inca ruins, and in despair at the internal conflict he faced, he had fled. His dilemma was twofold. Although he agreed in principal with Yupanqui, that it was time all descendants of the Incas regained power in their countries rather than remain marginalised under their European colonial governments, Sonco did not believe violence was the answer. There had been enough bloodshed in the history of the Incas. Sonco was not a political man, far from it, but in some way he believed there was the need for an uprising.

  Also, Yupanqui had insinuated that all foreigners were the enemy, Catholic or not, and that had bothered Sonco. He knew that Hiram and the Kane family had only ever the best intentions for his people. They were his friends, and the decision to leave them had been the most difficult of his life. And right then, on his knees in front of an ancient rock carved altar to Pachamama, the tough Quechuan guide shed rare tears of frustration.

  Sonco had been well on the way to his home in Cuzco. He wanted nothing more than to see his wife and kids and make sense of all that had happened. He had heard stories of isolated acts of vandalism by the uprising, but didn’t know how big the movement was, whether it was a nationwide underground organisation or the aspirations of one man, albeit a man who believed he was the chosen leader of the Pachacuti.

  Yupanqui frightened Sonco. Not in a physical sense, but of the power he wielded, at least in the eyes of his subjects. But Sonco also knew bravery wasn’t the absence of fear. Bravery was being terrified and still doing what needed to be done.

  Sonco sat up and faced out into the Sacred Valley. No matter how many years he had lived and worked in those mountains they never failed to move him, stir his heart and regenerate his soul. The mountains were a part of him, his heritage, and he was a part of theirs. He didn’t know the truth about the uprising and wasn’t sure he wanted to. But there in the dirt, high in the Andes and far from home, Sonco understood what it was he had to do.

  With a silent prayer to his family, and another begging the support of both Inti and Pachamama, Sonco Amaru made up his mind.

  He hoped he wasn’t too late.

  With their hands bound Professor Haines and Evan Craft felt like goats being herded along a lonely mountain path. But both men were lucky. Neither was injured, and although Craft’s shoulder still ached the wound escaped infection and the pain was minimal. Also, being so close together meant they could at least communicate, though they were careful not to antagonise their captor, Yupanqui.

  The Inca leader had no personal issue with them, but it was clear they might be important as insurance if Kane tried anything stupid. They were unhurt and treated with indifference, but were far from happy at being prisoners. They both expected that Kane was already plotting their escape, and agreed not to attempt anything themselves. Until Kane revealed his hand they would go along with whatever Yupanqui decided.

  Craft had known his friend for more than two decades, and if there was one thing he knew about his old sparring partner, it was that he would not panic. Despite their banter Evan knew Kane was a good and decent man, and diplomacy would always be his first tactic to diffuse any situation. But it hadn’t always been that way.

  In their younger years, with Kane still reeling in the aftermath of his brother Danny’s disappearance, it was Evan who’d often had to use diplomacy to prevent fights, Hiram unable to control his pent up rage after a few beers. But Hiram had grown, and though he still retained vast amounts of guilt and anger over his brother’s probable death, he was more at peace with himself than ever before. Evan was sure Kane would again try the diplomatic approach first. But if diplomacy failed, Craft knew Kane would do anything to save them from the violent terrorists.

  Something else troubled Craft. Over their long days on the trail, before any of the drama unfolded he had spent a lot of time chatting to Kate Edgewood, the young English scholar. He understood she was somehow involved with the Catholic group, but he was far from convinced she was a terrorist. Something was not right about her, but he could not accept that. Throughout their chats he had grown fond of the pretty masters student, and felt that they had a lot in common, and there was even talk of a trip together once the expedition in Peru was over. But Evan had endured a long history of bad luck with women, and Kane delighted in teasing him over his dubious choices. Evan liked Kate, though, and he felt sure the feeling was mutual.

  Now, though, the entire expedition had gone to shit, and Evan no longer knew what to believe. Sure, Kate was a little floored, but who wasn’t, and despite what he’d seen he believed she had a good and moral heart. There was no doubt life would never be the same again for all those involved, whether their intentions were noble or otherwise, and in those minutes of quiet walking side by side with Haines, and under the armed scrutiny of the guards, Craft vowed not to give up on Kate Edgewood.

  Fifty yards behind Evan Kate struggled along, feet scraping dirt and shoulders sagged under the weight of fear and pain. Her face and body were bloodied and bruised due to a beating by the guards, and every step was a mammoth effort. She had never felt so vulnerable and low.

  Everything Kate had ever believed about herself and the world was now in question. She knew she wasn’t a good or moral person, though those failures she attributed to a tough father who had stepped on many toes and ruined many lives to achieve his successes in life. Kate had believed in God once, and was technically raised a Catholic, though she knew her father was a cynical man, and as corrupt as the Catholic church itself. But she was not there in the Andes for any spiritual or religious reasons, and cared nothing for the Catholic cause so important to her professor and pseudo-lover Ferdinand Benedix.

  Benedix thought he had convinced Edgewood to join their fight for righteous reasons and in the name of God. But it was she who had used him all along, seeking favour to secure a place on the expedition. She was selfish. She was corrupt. And she wanted Atahualpa’s gold more than anything else in her life. But she knew now that greed would cost her that life.

  Was there any way out of this? She liked Evan, and though she had lied to him she clung onto a shred of hope that he’d seen through her bravado and witnessed the younger, purer version of herself she hoped was not yet dead.

  Maybe Craft was her only hope of survival. And maybe, if she did make it out of these mountains alive, just maybe he’d become the catalyst to turn her wretched life around.

  She would not pray for intervention to a God she no longer believed in. Instead, she would hope for some grounded, more Earthly intervention. Ultimately, she hoped the good deeds of a few good men and one woman would prevail.

  That’s what she hoped for, because hope was all Kate Edgewood had left.

  Yupanqui felt good about things. Kane and his girl Ridley had escaped, and if he was honest he could not blame them. It is what he would have done in their situation. But their escape was of little concern. He had the map. He had detained Hooper. True, he had lost two young Quechuans, which both saddened and angered him, but in the bigger scheme of things they were warriors and they were on the brink of war. Warriors died. They were Inca, or at least descended from Inca, and Yupanqui believed it should be a privilege to die in service to the Pachacuti. In service to him. And soon he would serve their vengeance.

  Their passage to Vilcabamba was slower than Yupanqui wanted, but in detaining the captives they had sustained injuries, and in Hooper’s case, life threatening. Good, he thought.

  In reality, the Incans had been awaiting this moment for five centuries, and he knew they could wait another two days. The result would be the same. Yupanqui was certain it would be well worth the wait. The Inca would once more rise to where they belonged among the world’s great empires, and he, Yupanqui Atoc, would be crowned Sapa Inca, supreme ruler of that empire.

  But Yupanqui’s ambition did not stop there. He dreamed bigger than that, and if things went as planned not only would he control the ancient lands of the old Inca empire, but he would gain rule over the entire continent of South America. There was a long hard journey ahead, and many, many sacrifices to make before that moment. But it had to start somewhere, and it would start at Vilcabamba.

  And, Yupanqui had his first sacrificial offerings to Inti and Pachamama under his control.

  Yupanqui by nature was not a violent man, and he knew he was merely fulfilling the role chosen for him. But he could not deny that he would enjoy spilling Catholic blood. The man had changed since his calling, but it was a change he thrived on. Yupanqui would live up to his duty and the sacred honour of Pachacuti bestowed upon him, and to show that pride and honour to his duty he would relish smearing himself in heathen Catholic blood to worship and acknowledge his ancestors.

  And when he did, he would unleash the condor to soar to its former heights.

  Descent into Chaos

  Light spilled between the branches onto the uneven path in playful patterns, dancing on the earth and rocks as if to signify the day’s light performance was ending. It would have been a beautiful scene were it not for the horrific circumstances that had sent them careening through it.

  Despite the debilitating heat Kane believed they had made significant progress and felt confident of making it to Vilcabamba before Yupanqui and his crew. But they needed to rest. Due to their hasty escape they had no camping supplies, and with the cold night coming soon they would have to find shelter.