Hiram turned to follow Danny but his grandfather grabbed his arm.

  “Let him go, he’ll be okay. I’ll bring Danny something next time.”

  Hiram sighed. Danny would be fine. He always was.

  It was true. Inside, Danny was no longer crying. He was getting angry instead.

  Hiram’s focus soon returned to the dazzling disk of gold, as thoughts of his tormented brother faded with the sun.

  But Danny never did get a surprise gift like that from his granddad. Not because he hadn’t wanted to give him anything, but because he never got the chance. A little over six months later Danny disappeared. He was never seen again.

  4

  Day 4

  Suspicions

  “Morning, handsome,” said Ridley, catching up to Kane on the narrow trail and giving his bum a playful tap. “You seem distant.” She stepped ahead and paused, assessing him. She knew Kane well and sensed he was troubled. “Everything okay?”

  “Just tired, that’s all. Didn’t sleep well,” he said, rubbing his eyes. But he knew the reason.

  Mid-morning and progress was slow and steady, inevitable given the treacherous terrain. The narrow path was barely a path at all, uneven due to the dirt and loose rocks, and the constant tangle of vines and low-hanging branches. Every step was taken with extreme caution, and more than once they had to clamber over fallen trunks and under rocky outcrops. Most of the team had banged their head at least once.

  Ridley had a point. Kane was a little aloof. He was in his element, hiking in the beautiful mountains in pursuit of the one thing he prized above all others, yet he couldn’t shake his disquietude about Hooper and Muddy. Whether guilty or not, Hooper gave him the too much to think about.

  After breakfast, while helping to dismantle the camp, Kane spoke to Professors Haines and Muddy about his concerns. Both men believed he had nothing to worry about.

  “He’s just different from you, that’s all,” said Muddy, a man who’d seen and done it all in the field. “He’s a city boy, not used to the great outdoors. Perhaps he’s just caught up a little with the fever of the adventure?”

  “I agree with Muddy,” said Haines. Professor John Haines was a world-renowned art historian and had published multiple books across a variety of disciplines, with great success. He was often a guest speaker at art conferences around the world, and when he spoke, people listened. “Look, Hiram, I’ve been studying art and artefacts all my life. For an old man like me to feel as excited as I am, despite all the treasure hunts I’ve been on, imagine what it’s like for a first-timer like Howie. He’s probably thrilled just to be here, and who knows, perhaps on the cusp of one of the greatest discoveries of the last hundred years?” There was definite fire in those wizened eyes, and Kane had to agree he was probably being a touch sensitive.

  He nodded. “Maybe you’re right, John. You usually are.”

  “However,” added Muddy, “how about we keep a close eye on him, let you know if we see anything dodgy?”

  “Yes, do that. Thanks.” Kane still wasn’t convinced, but he trusted those men.

  A few hours later and Kane finally relaxed into the day’s hike, cruising along behind Ridley. It was a view he’d long admired. His mind drifted back to the autumn of 1997 when they’d met at a tae-kwon-do class they both attended.

  Kane admired Ridley from afar for weeks. He adored women, yet always took a passive approach to dating. It wasn’t arrogance. It was more an innate shyness and reluctance to get involved, and he didn’t expect the opportunities that came his way. But they often did, and after being upfront about his complete inability to commit he often took up those opportunities.

  And so it went with Ridley.

  Kane & Ridley

  Autumn, 2003

  Lowestoft, Suffolk

  Paired against each other in a pre-tournament sparring bout, Kane and Ridley faced off. He had no qualms about sparring with girls–the fact they practiced tae-kwan-do in the first place meant she could handle it. But not all women were as sexy as Alexandria Ridley. She circled him around the mat, encouraging him forward. Shit, he thought, grinning. I’ll have to be careful. After a few half-hearted lunges, all which missed by a mile, Kane thought he heard her whisper, “I’m taking you home tonight.”

  If it was what she’d actually said or just his imagination playing tricks, it completely caught him off guard. The next thing he knew Ridley flattened him with a no-holds-barred roundhouse kick to the temple. Dazed, he looked up as she pulled off her red bandana and unleashed a mane of hair the colour of mahogany. She looked down with unsympathetic eyes, and for a moment held his gaze. But with a wink more at home in the Moulin Rouge than on a fighting mat, she said, “Hank’s Bar, seven o’clock.”

  A second later she turned and left.

  I’ll probably regret this, Kane thought, entering Hank’s at exactly six forty that evening. He looked about, took a seat at the bar, and ordered a pint. The mysterious Ridley was nowhere to be seen. A little nervous, he’d almost finished his first beer when he heard the roar of a powerful motorbike pulling up outside. He checked his watch and smiled. Six fifty-nine.

  Moments later Ridley was occupying a seat next to him and had already ordered a beer. A minute later, and after two long gulps, she was halfway down her pint.

  “How’s the skull? Looks like you survived well enough.” She smiled.

  And just like that Ridley had broken the ice. They settled into easy conversation, skipping the mindless small talk Kane usually endured on first dates. They discussed China’s heinous occupation of Tibet and their hopes for its eventual freedom, moving onto the less serious but no less animated topic of who had the best voice between Vedder and Cornell. After each claiming the virtues of their choice, they settled on a magnanimous tie. Coupled with that a shared interest in the wider arts and outdoor pursuits, and of course their favourite wines and beers from around the world, within an hour Kane knew Alexandria Ridley was a special person. Despite himself, Kane felt enamoured.

  Both aged twenty-six, they learned each had an inborn and insatiable thirst for adventure. Kane’s need to travel had led to an experiential life, and he had enjoyed many foreign trips even before finishing high school. He credited his adventurous grandparents for that.

  Ridley’s tale was no less interesting, yet it was a tale laced with tragedy. An only child, Alexandria was orphaned after her parents died in a boating accident. She was just sixteen, but was at least fortunate that life insurance had paid off her parent’s mortgage. Not only that, but her parent’s estate had left her considerably wealthy for someone so young.

  Lacking few close relatives and any real guidance the young Alex went off the rails, drinking too much and blanking out her misery and despair by any means possible. The bottom line was, Alex was wasting not only her inheritance but her vast academic potential, and that was more important.

  However, by the time she turned twenty and after almost a year backpacking around south east Asia, most notably in Vietnam and Laos, Alex developed a passion for different cultures and spent a lot of her time volunteering in a series of desperate orphanages. It was a moment at one such orphanage in the sleepy northern Laotian town of Luang Prabang that Alex regained her lust for life.

  On one of her daily visits to the Children’s Centre, in a dusty street behind the town’s main temple of Wat Xieng Thong, she witnessed an act of kindness so humbling it restored her fractured faith in humanity. A tiny five-year-old girl named Alamea, and her friend, four-year-old Pep, were found wandering alone in a village several miles outside town and were collected and deposited anonymously in the early hours of the morning several weeks previous. They were both starving, dehydrated, and sick, and their immediate prognosis was that they’d be lucky to live out the week. Hungry and dangerously weak from malnutrition, Alamea refused to eat until her friend, Pep, his health even more precarious than hers, was fed. With care and affection, and a course of antibiotics, over the three weeks they’d been at the Children’s Centre their health steadily improved. They would now survive, thanks to the help of the orphanage. Alamea meant precious in Laotian.

  Such selflessness in such a young child forced Ridley to question everything she thought she knew about herself. She realised then she had become selfish while feeling sorry for herself and was wasting the good fortune of being born and raised in a wealthy, powerful nation such as England. Yes, she was helping out in the orphanage, both with time and money. But she could do so much more for these poor, underprivileged kids. It was a major turning point in her life, and a moment she would never forget.

  With some hard work and serious soul searching, and plenty more world travelling, Ridley came through those traumatic few years, and in order to put her money to good use and give her life some meaning she donated a vast sum of money, enough to support the orphanage in Luang Prabang for the next twenty years. Next, she enrolled in the University of East Anglia’s Art History degree program. She'd finally found her calling and was revelling in her new life.

  There was no doubt about it, Kane and Ridley had much in common, not least their shared love of a few adult beverages. As the night wore on and the beers continued to flow, Kane kept trying to ask a question that had troubled him ever since she'd humbled him on the tae-kwan-do mat. When his Dutch courage had sufficiently lubricated his reticence, Kane asked his question.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask… Erm… Did you really say—?”

  Ridley raised her hand, silencing him. She knew exactly what he wanted to know. “Yes, I did say that. But I didn’t know if I meant it then.”

  “Then?” Kane asked, incredulous.

  “Yes, then. It depends on you.”

  “On me?” He couldn’t help it. It didn’t happen often, but Kane flushed with embarrassment. “How?”

  “Depends whether you’ll pay for our taxi home?”

  And since that day forth the two of them have been the closest of friends and often more, which is how Ridley knew, looking into Kane’s eyes as they walked along the Andean trails, that he was having a rough day.

  “It’s that Hooper, isn’t it. You’ve been eyeing him like a hawk. What is it?”

  Kane contemplated telling her what he thought about the American, then thought better of it. For now, he didn’t want to worry anyone if it was a false alarm. He turned to face Ridley. “Listen, Alex. I’m okay. Honest. Everything’s fine. Trust me.”

  Ridley shook her head in mock grumpiness but followed up with a smile. Kane knew that smile. It meant, I’m here if you need anything. Hiram knew she would be.

  “Now,” he said, “You know I’m not sexist, but how about you get back ahead of me. With all due respect to Muddy, yours is a much more attractive backside.”

  Scheming

  Kate Edgewood couldn’t help but be inspired by both the beautiful Andean scenery surrounding them and the history she sensed as she hiked in the footsteps of the Incas. Despite her heinous ulterior motif, Edgewood’s passion for art history and the myths and legends of the ancient world was genuine, and she was so spellbound by the magnificent views that an element of doubt about her intentions crept unbidden into her conscience. If they actually succeeded in finding Vilcabamba and the Inca treasure–and she was confident they would–there would certainly be mixed feelings about claiming the glory herself.

  All the world had heard about the legendary lost Inca gold–there were movies and dozens of novels written about that very thing. But if they were the ones to finally find it, didn’t they have a moral obligation to return it to the Incan descendants? Of course they did. And could she handle the fact people were almost certainly going to get hurt, even die? Yes, she could.

  Yet, those thoughts were fleeting at best, and Edgewood chided herself for the moment of weakness. Ultimately, her desire for the Inca riches surpassed all else, and continued to grow with every passing mile.

  “Stunning, isn’t it,” said Evan, snapping another image of the wild scenery. “Totally inspiring.”

  “It really is,” replied Kate. “More spectacular than I even imagined. Photos online and in books could never do justice to the real thing. No offence.” She smiled an apology at the good looking photographer.

  “None taken,” replied Evan, “and I couldn’t agree more.” He meant it, too. Evan Craft was cajoled into coming on the expedition by his friend Hiram to shoot a photographic record of what he believed would be their successful quest for Vilcabamba. Craft had his reservations about a two-week trek in the Andes, more comfortable photographing animals on the plains of Africa, where he could spend long hours sitting on his arse in a jeep. But Kane convinced the notoriously lazy bloke it might just be the defining work of his career, and he agreed to come.

  “Do you think we’re going to find it?” she asked. “The treasure, I mean.”

  “Well, after Hiram told me how close he came last year, when only the earthquake got in the way, if anyone can find anything out here in these mountains it’s my old mate, Kane. Especially with his map.” Evan leaned in close, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye, “And between me and you, Kane said it’ll be more amazing than anyone could imagine.”

  Edgewood believed it, too. To hear it from someone so close to Kane only solidified her determination. It also gave her an idea. She knew she could use Craft to her advantage, and began right away, all moral doubts forgotten. “What will you do, you know, when you become the famous photographer of Vilcabamba?” She hated flirting with infantile characters like Craft, but given Hooper’s inadequacies she thought she’d need a backup plan. With coquettish abandon, Edgewood began making an ally of Evan. It seemed to work.

  “Well, I thought… Once all the fuss has died down, maybe I could, you know, I mean… Maybe we could go to Hawaii.” Craft was jabbering. “I, um, I know this great place on Maui with the best pizzas, the beaches are perfect, and as for the sunsets…”

  And for the next hour, Evan was undone by the charms of Kate Edgewood, rambling on and oblivious to the fact that after just a few flattering words, she had him exactly where she wanted him.

  Up ahead, Kane and Sonco were in deep conversation. “Very soon we have to leave trail and cut deep into jungle.” Sonco’s English, mostly learned from Hiram, was decent, but an exotic mix of Quechuan and Spanish accents were unmistakable. “There was small avalanche one month ago. Normal pass is closed. Other way is good.”

  Kane recalled his last expedition, the one which took him closer to Vilcabamba than he’d ever been. He and his group were lucky to escape with their lives, and he had to abort the attempt. Regarding their routes, Kane trusted Sonco completely, and if he suggested an alternative route for safety reasons, then that’s the way they’d go. “Okay, my friend, lead the way. Let us hope Pachamama is kind this time.”

  Sonco nodded. Internally, though, he cursed the ignorant Spaniard, De La Cruz, for daring to disrespect Pachamama. Only time would tell if it would cost them.

  He steered the group on a north-easterly tangent deeper into the jungle and set them on a course that would test their physical capabilities more than anything until now. Dense trees closed in around them, the hanging vines a knotted tangle. Within the sweating jungle, the humidity seemed to rise with each passing moment.

  Ahead of them, one of Sonco’s men literally had to blaze a trail with expertly vicious swings of a razor-edged machete. Their already slow progress became ponderous by necessity, nature dominating human endeavour. Nevertheless, spirits remained high, and Kane sensed a growing determination, necessary to match the increasingly difficult conditions.

  The sun had reached its zenith yet little light filtered through the low jungle canopy, the dappled darkness adding more treachery to their every step. And though they’d moved away from the dangerous cliff edges, other perils awaited them. Ruined stone walls, built half a millennium ago by skilled Inca masons, were hidden, reclaimed by a greedy jungle. Unseen, any false step could topple you ten feet down an invisible drop. Breaking a leg or neck would be easy.

  Unpredictable terrain wasn’t the only danger, and native wildlife was now a serious issue. Venomous spiders, scorpions, and aggressive snakes lurked beneath those ancient stones. Though rarely fatal, one bite or sting could bring a swift end to the victim’s expedition. And then there were the bugs. Winged insects of all shapes and sizes fluttered here and there, human eyes and ears their preferred target. Infuriating, the constant waving necessary to keep them at bay caused many to stumble on the rocks.

  But when it came to swarming insects, Kane’s personal nemeses mosquitoes were causing utter chaos, inescapable due to such immense numbers. They didn’t carry malaria like their African cousins, but nonetheless, their incessant droning had been known to drive men insane. Kane thought he might be next.

  Aside from bugs and snakes and a multitude of unseen dangers, one menace, though diminutive in size, was more feared by locals than anything else; the Bot Fly. After one bite, Bot Fly larvae like nothing more than to feast on human flesh–from the inside. No amount of squeezing can remove its barbed, spiny body, and the nasty, gruesome creature is paralysingly painful.

  The dreaded Bot Fly was just another of the many perils Kane’s team faced in the damp and dangerous darkness of the Andean jungle.

  Hooper

  If it was possible, Howie Hooper was distancing himself further from the others. After their chat with Kane, both Haines and Muddy had attempted to engage him in conversation, but with little or no success. He’d replied to their morning greetings, grunting a few words to tell them he was fine. But as the day wore on it became increasingly obvious that he was against conversing with anyone. That combined with his agitated attitude had aroused their suspicions, not least Hooper’s American counterpart Muddy. He made it a point to get Hooper talking.