on the Inca settlement, the thumps of falling stonework echoing all around him. The sooner he got to the helicopter with his prize, the better.
Prizes, plural. Another sound caught his attention: a coughing groan. Not far away, Kit clung to a pillar as the flood washed around him. Stikes drew his gun and pointed it at the Indian. ‘Jindal!’ Kit looked up at him through half-closed eyes, confused - then shocked. ‘Don’t move. We’ve still got some business together.’
The raging water trying to tear Mac loose subsided. He shifted position, keeping hold of his prosthetic leg with one hand as he used the other to grip a jutting block and pull himself higher. Taking his weight on his right leg, he freed his trapped foot, then splashed down to solid ground. The water reached his shins, but was quickly falling.
He sloshed back up towards the square to search for his friends, discovering to his annoyance that he was limping: the strain had bent his artificial foot out of alignment. ‘I’ll have a job kicking anyone’s arse with that,’ he muttered.
Gurov completed his hurried pre-flight checks and twisted in his cockpit seat to look back at Krikorian. ‘Come on, close the fucking hatch!’
The Armenian was struggling with a catch. ‘It’s stuck, I can’t lock it!’ He bashed at the panel with a fist, trying to force it shut.
Even though the flood seemed to be slowing, Gurov still wanted to get the hell out of the cave. ‘I’m starting her. Just get it closed before we take off!’
He flicked switches. With a whine of turbines, the engines came to life, the heavy rotor blades slowly beginning to turn.
Further down the hill, the bedraggled Pachac pulled himself out of the water up a short flight of steps. Another of his men was already there, panting and clutching his bleeding arm, and nearby he heard moans and calls for help. ‘Comrades! Can you hear me?’ he shouted. ‘Who’s still with me?’
One by one, his remaining followers responded. Eight men altogether – all that was left of his original force of over twenty. ‘What do we do, Inkarrí?’ one asked.
Pachac looked towards the cave mouth. Now that part of the wall had collapsed, it would be easy for them to reach the jungle outside. ‘We need to get out of here and contact the rest of the True Red Way,’ he decided. ‘The Punchaco is here – we can’t let the government get it. We need more men so we can take it ourselves.’
‘But it’s huge, it weighs tons!’ protested another rebel. ‘How are we going to get it down the road?’
‘We’ll steal a truck!’ He pointed at two men. ‘Mauro, Juan, when we get outside you guard the cave. If any of the archaeologists survived and try to escape, kill them.’
Heads turned towards the rising sound of the Hind. ‘What about the mercenaries?’ said the first man.
‘Stikes got what he came for, those statues,’ replied Pachac. ‘If he tries to get anything else . . . we kill him too!’ He regarded the broken wall. ‘The water’s falling; we’ll be able to get out now. Come on.’
Eddie waded to the now open end of the temple. Osterhagen followed. ‘This is incredible,’ said the German. ‘If there is gold behind the whole wall, it would be worth hundreds of millions of dollars!’
‘If I were you, I’d start negotiating for a finder’s fee . . .’ Eddie tailed off, the gold forgotten as he took in the view beyond the opening. On the plaza, the Hind’s rotors were building up to takeoff speed – and closer, on the maze of rooftops between the temple and the helicopter, he saw Stikes and four of his men carefully navigating the walls to reach the aircraft.
With a prisoner. Kit. Baine held him at rifle point.
‘Doc, wait here,’ Eddie ordered. Before Osterhagen could reply, the Englishman had climbed through the hole and jumped down on to the skeletal buildings below. He ran along the thick walls after the mercenaries.
The water flowing beneath Nina’s position finally looked safe enough to traverse. She dropped down into it and made her way to the terrace overlooking the square.
To her relief, she saw a welcome face below. ‘Mac!’ she cried, carefully negotiating the waterfall running down the steps and hurrying to him. ‘You’re okay!’
‘My specialist will probably have some harsh words,’ Mac replied, raising his buckled prosthetic leg out of the water, ‘but apart from that, yes, I’m all right. What about the others?