To acclimatise they’d spent ten days walking Cuzco’s cobbled streets, admiring the architecture and learning of the city’s rich yet troubled history. Led by Kane, the group also took a few mini-hikes into the hills surrounding the city, soon appreciating just how tough the conditions would be so high above sea level. One such hike led them to the magnificent Inca UNESCO site of Saq-say-huamán. The megalithic fortress was vast, the hundreds of tourists swarming among the ruins as insignificant in size as city ants. Most scholars agree ancient Cuzco was designed in the shape of the sacred puma, the fortress of Saq-say-huamán forming the puma’s head, and it took little imagination for the group to see the gargantuan stone blocks that formed the terraces as the ferocious teeth and jaws of a mountain lion.

  Two days before their departure on the expedition, Kane led the group to the famed Santa Domingo Church and the Qorikancha–the gold enclosure–an Inca temple dedicated to their Sun God, Inti. After the Spanish conquistadors defeated the Inca, in another deliberate show of their might they built their church right on top of the temple using its existing foundations, and what can only be described as an architectural palimpsest could not have been a more disrespectful insult. But as Kane explained in his most serious tour-guide tone, Earth goddess Pachamama and Inti the Sun God could not and would not accept the horrific insult, and have lain waste to the church with violent earthquakes on numerous occasions since. The most amazing thing about it, Kane told them, was despite the Catholic Church being destroyed multiple times during the subsequent centuries, not a single Inca stone was ever dislodged, demonstrating not only the power of Pachamama and Inti, but the skill and mastery of the Inca’s stone construction.

  Right now, though, an ugly steel skeleton of scaffolding and a skin of blue plastic sheets concealed serious damage to one section of the church. Three months previous in the early hours of the morning, an unknown group of men had thrown a series of small, homemade bombs at the church, causing significant mutilation to the façade. Local inhabitants were shocked, but it was yet another incident that echoed reports of similar occurrences in Lima and other cities, where statues of conquistadors and various Christian buildings had been attacked and vandalised. While national media suggested organised terror activity, no group claimed responsibility for the violence, though notorious communist terror group The Shining Path were quick to distance themselves from the attacks. Whoever it was, the events had caused Christians nationwide to take notice. Kane, however, did not notice the anger raging beneath the façade of one of his expedition members.

  He would learn about it soon enough.

  The Night Before

  Tuesday, May 1st,2014

  Present Day

  Hummingbirds flitted in and out of the draping crimson bougainvillaea, and from below the tantalising and familiar smells of roasted alpaca and guinea pig drifted Kane’s way. Relaxing with his feet dangled over the ornate iron railing, the view across Cuzco’s pretty Plaza de Armas from his apartment balcony remained as satisfying as ever. With some reverence, he watched the dusky blue sky fade first to pink and then a fiery orange, while sipping his third ice cold Cusqueña beer.

  It was moments like those, on the eve of a grand adventure, when Kane felt most alive. All the necessary preparation for the expedition got done with the utmost diligence and meticulous detail, and because of his wealth of experience at such undertakings he’d left nothing to chance. As he always did Kane recruited a highly skilled team of local support, from the best Quechuan guide in the Andes to a team of the strongest and most reliable porters and pack mules. When possible Kane used the same locals, one in particular whom he considered essential: his long-term guide, and good friend, Sonco Amaru.

  Sonco, meaning of good and noble heart, in Quechuan, was a remarkable man. He stood just 5’ 3” tall, and weighed in at a little less than fourteen stone (196lbs), yet the man had the strength of an ox and the stamina of several llamas. Whether or not he had the agility of an Andean goat depended entirely on the quantity of Cusqueñas he’d downed. With dubious validity, Sonco claimed to be forty-two years old, and when anyone queried his age, he always replied with a mischievous wink; “Si. Quarenta y dos,” he’d say.Yes, forty-two. Yet according to Kane, Sonco had been claiming he was forty-two for the last seven years. Regardless of his real age, what Kane couldn’t deny was his incredible knowledge of the area and his unrivalled skill as both a guide and porter in the unpredictable conditions and terrain of the Peruvian Andes.

  Somewhat of a local legend, Sonco once held the record for the Inca Trail Annual Race, clocking an unbelievable time of three hours and twenty-nine minutes. To put that into context, Kane always told his travelling parties that the average tourist took four days to cover the same twenty-six miles. Quite simply, Kane could not run his operations in the Andes without his pal Sonco, and nor would he want to. They were good friends, and Kane trusted the man with his life.

  Kane put down the empty beer bottle and contemplated a fourth when his mind drifted to the past. In much the same way that during those moments before an expedition he felt energised and happy, the opposite was sometimes true. Negative, guilty thoughts crept up on him from the Andean darkness to threaten his positive mood, and it was a common theme, the physical highs and lows of an Andes trek matched by their metaphorical emotional counterparts. It was a theme he didn’t deal with at all well.

  The guilt, that’s what got to him. A guilt that his brother Danny wasn’t sharing his adventures, or not out carving his own history somewhere else in the world. Danny had been denied that opportunity by what was very likely foul means, though no one had ever discovered the truth. Yet here Kane was, loving his life, and with a new adventure always on the horizon. With the world at his feet, he was the lucky one, and it galled him every single time.

  But it also inspired him. He was on this mission to Vilcabamba for himself, but also for his family, and not least Danny. It would be the discovery to heal several generations of hurt and disappointment.

  Hiram and his father weren’t close. It’s true that when he was a very young boy their relationship was better, but it had taken a steady downturn over the years. To begin with, the young Hiram never understood why, other than it being a simple case of a father having a favourite son, a greater fondness for Danny than for him. That was okay, he guessed. Hiram had always enjoyed a fantastic relationship with his mother, and if he was honest he supposed she had her favourite too. So he understood it a little, and his dad had a point.

  Hiram and Danny, however, were very close. They fought and bickered, just as all siblings did, but did it with sly grins and always stopped short of genuine angst. Just two years separated them, but Hiram was a natural athlete and far more physically developed, nearer four years Danny’s elder in terms of physical prowess. Not that he ever showed off to his brother. If they raced, Hiram often let him win, and in an arm wrestle it was always a close match but shouldn’t have been. Kane adored his little brother, always ready to punch the nose of anyone who picked on him at school. He assumed Danny looked up to him, just as he would’ve, had he been the younger of the two. Danny teased Hiram about being the family favourite, the stronger, smarter, more handsome brother, he the runt of the two child litter. But Hiram dismissed it as nothing more than friendly banter and good-natured jealousy. Sibling rivals, just like all brothers.

  Kane had always clung to the notion Danny was adventurous like him and had wanted to go to the Old Rec’ that day. But he was only kidding himself, and in doing so, Hiram was betraying his brother’s memory. His father was right. I should never have let him bunk off school with me, should never have left him alone. He wouldn’t have gone missing, and he… He’d still be here.

  Those are the thoughts that haunted him then, and always would.

  Hiram didn’t kill his brother, but harboured enormous guilt about his disappearance. Regardless of the details, it had ripped the family in two. Kane opened the fourth Cusqueña.

  Thousands of dark nights had passed since that tragic and fateful day in the spring of 1989, but the pain of the loss never lessened its grip. It was guilt. And worse, it was a truth that, whether justified or not, was a truth he would always know.

  Unless…

  Kane believed one of the only things that might someday slacken his disabling noose of guilt was to find the thing that had eluded his family for so long. He thought if he could at last lay claim to discovering that elusive lost city of Vilcabamba, he would be laying many ghosts to rest, not least his own. His great-grandfather, Patrick. His own grandfather, Hiram. Perhaps even his father might forgive him. And, of course, Danny. In his heart he knew if Danny was still around he too would be as committed to Vilcabamba as he himself was, and their forefathers before them.

  The answer to his emancipation was simple. Kane had to find Vilcabamba, and cast both his own, and his family’s, demons aside forever.

  He knew he was close last year. If it wasn’t for the earthquake that forced them to abandon their quest, he was certain he would’ve found the lost city. So close, and yet in hindsight he believed it was a good thing. No one was seriously hurt, and all members of that group felt relieved to have left the Sacred Valley alive. This time Kane was even more prepared. He’d assembled an exceptional group of dedicated professionals, some known personally, others more or less strangers, but he believed all would prove great assets to the expedition.

  The only one that perturbed him slightly was Howie Hooper, the writer. He didn’t know what it was about the man, but something had begun to niggle at Kane now their departure was so close. To be fair, Hooper was healthy and strong enough, and he talked a good game. Besides, Hiram needed a writer with travel experience, and Kane had confidence in his own abilities as a leader. He had dealt with almost every situation and scenario possible in the Andes and led many successful adventures around the world. And he had alongside him Sonco Amaru.

  “Howie Hooper.” Kane found himself muttering the name aloud, as if it would deliver some profound insight about the American. Then, “Silly arse,” he said, lips curling into a wry and crooked grin, as if to prove his point.

  With a final look over the famous plaza below him, the square alive with the sounds of market vendors and tourists no doubt drunk on the potent mix of altitude and pisco sours, Kane yawned, and was just about to call it a night when a gentle double thud at his apartment door grabbed his attention. It could only be one person, and the thought of her raised another wry smile. He swung open the apartment’s aged, squeaky door, fully expecting to see his friend, old flame, and long-time travel buddy, Alexandria Ridley standing there, but the gloomy corridor was empty. Strange, he thought. Ridley was a feisty one, no question, and a practical joker, too. She was probably sneaking into the room over his balcony at that very moment. Kane closed the protesting door and returned to the balcony, yet was just as surprised not to find her there. He decided it was just neighbourhood kids messing about and prepared for bed.

  He needed the early night. Tomorrow was a big day.

  Kane tugged at the lamp’s chain and plunged his cosy bedroom into darkness. But there it was again; a quick double knock. What now?

  He raced to the door, and this time it was Ridley. And as always, Alex Ridley looked ravishing. “Care for a nightcap, Kane? I’ve brought the pisco if you’ll add the sour?”

  Before he could answer, Ridley breezed right past him, and with a knowing smile, Kane closed his door on the night for the final time.

  Day 1

  After a long year of careful planning and organisation the day of departure had finally arrived. Thrilled, Kane grinned. His hangover was history, and he was about to make some of his own.

  At 8:15am Kane met the others in the lobby of their hotel on the Plaza de Armas, happy to see them all in great spirits as he entered the hive of activity.

  Self-appointed patriarch among them, A. J. Waters, hustled about the group to make sure they were prepared. He was a touch bossy, but it was good-natured and they met his demands with a smile. Known as ‘Muddy’ to his colleagues, the notorious Waters wasn’t afraid to do what it took to locate a find. Credited for a plethora of important cultural artefacts across the world, native Boston-ite Muddy was as passionate as those half his age, and his impressive physical stature was more than matched by his larger-than-life personality. Decked out in his ever-present field fatigues, khakis that looked as if they hadn’t seen a washing machine since his last dig, Muddy was a legend in the world of archaeology.

  John Haines watched his old colleague and smiled, more than happy to let his friend take centre stage. Haines himself was beyond retirement age, but his heart beat like a twenty-something and the sparkle in his grey-blue eyes left no one doubting the adventurous spirit that still burned within. Tightening the laces on his expensive hiking boots and smoothing down his shirt–tailored, despite heading into the jungle–the classy professor was ready for action.

  Equally ready was Evan Craft, expedition photographer and Kane’s old friend. Though he and Kane had undertaken many adventures together Evan had never been into the Andes before, and Hiram saw genuine excitement in his mate’s eyes. A tough cookie, his wit and humour would be crucial on the long and arduous hikes, his personality as colourful as his range of shirts. Today’s choice, a kaleidoscope of parrots.

  Despite the lateness of the previous night, Alexandria Ridley glowed as she strode into the lobby. She’d spent the night at Kane’s apartment, but agreed to keep their unique friendship hidden from the others. Of course, their mutual mate Evan knew the deal. Kane just preferred a more professional working relationship in public, but in truth that’s really what it was. Kane and Ridley’s moments of fun were seldom, not often enough to consider themselves an item. It suited Ridley more than it did Kane. She moved on from each encounter with less emotional traction than Kane, and each time they departed his heart ached just a little more.

  Attired in her typical outdoorsy wear, Ridley wore tight-fitting khaki trousers and hiking boots, khaki long sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and her trademark red bandana, a throwback from her Guns N’ Roses concert days and which kept her long, mahogany hair out of her face. Kane didn’t know how she did it, but despite the rugged gear Ridley somehow seemed glamorous. He shook his head, and Ridley gave him just the hint of a wink.

  Making last minute adjustments to her backpack, Kate Edgewood squatted nearby, her slight frame looking as though a stiff breeze might blow her over, and that an Andean expedition would just about kill her. But she’d managed the acclimatisation drills with relative comfort, and Kane believed she was tougher than she appeared. She glanced up and caught his eye, giving him a confident nod.

  Loitering adrift from the group and speaking quietly together were Howie Hooper and the Spanish professor, Angelo De La Cruz. Hooper was an athletic man, lean yet toned, and if Kane didn’t know better he’d mark him down as ex-military. The crew cut hairstyle added to his no-nonsense appearance.

  By comparison, De La Cruz was inconspicuous by definition. Just 5’ 8” tall and slim, his passive face marked him as a straight-laced and serious man. His plain clothes were a good match for his countenance, simple yet durable, and Kane sensed an inner strength he guessed few people ever witnessed. Yet, although the man moved about with a distinct calmness his eyes were watchful, constantly scanning his surroundings. Kane assumed the man never missed a trick.

  There was something not quite so subtle about Hooper. The man fidgeted, as if on edge, and as Kane looked over at him then, something made him instinctively uncomfortable. Sure, he looked capable enough, and like the others had proven himself very able during the preparation.

  Hiram had done what research he could on the members of his expedition team, but you never really knew how a person would react when the actual adventure started. Maybe he’s just nervous, Kane mused. He hoped he hadn’t misjudged the man.

  Standing in the centre of the busy lobby, Kane stood tall and clapped his hands loud to get their attention. They responded in an instant.

  “My friends,” he said at volume, “My friends. Are you ready to make history?”

  “Yes, sir,” shouted Evan.

  “Me too,” bellowed Muddy Waters, and before long the entire group were cheering, unable to contain their excitement. There was a palpable nervous tension among them–they were about to enter the wild terrain of the Andes, after all–but there was an equal sense of anticipation and relief that they were at last about to get started. Even the dour Hooper cracked a grin.

  Kane thought they looked ready. They were ready. And so was he.

  “Okay then, mi amigos y amigas, vamanos. To the mountains we shall go, and history we shall make.”

  Much like a teacher ushering a bunch of excited school kids on a field trip, Kane led the group out onto the cobbled walkway that skirted the Plaza De Armas. With several taxis already waiting for them the twenty-minute drive to Poroy Station was soon underway. From Poroy they’d ride the train to its furthest station, the dusty yet picturesque little town of Aguas Calientes that lay in the shadow of Machu Picchu Mountain.

  Aboard the train they relaxed into the rhythm of the journey, absorbing the majestic scenery of the Andes and mentally preparing for the physical and emotional tests to come. There was little chatter to begin with, each taking time to consider the enormity of what they were soon to undertake.

  From his seat at the rear of the carriage Kane took a moment to appraise the expedition members, and knowing he had done all he could to motivate and prepare them, he knew they were ready. Some of them he’d known a long time; Ridley and Evan, and Professor Haines, whom he’d studied under at university. Kane had only met Muddy Waters twice but was well aware of his towering reputation as a tenacious archaeologist and keen adventurer. In regards to those four Kane had no worries about the gruelling days ahead.