marrying Chase does make me question that. And speaking of questioning. . . ’ He opened the case to reveal the three figurines within, two whole and one bisected, and the bag containing the khipu. ‘El Dorado. You’re going to lead us there.’
‘I don’t know how.’
‘Yes you do. You found . . . what did Chase call it? Paititi.’
‘That was the result of years of archaeological research by Dr Osterhagen and an aerial survey,’ she lied.
‘Then why did you bring these?’ He tapped the two complete statuettes. ‘How did you know the third one would be there?’
‘Because . . . ’ Her hesitation, her inability to fabricate a convincing excuse in the split second available, told Stikes all too clearly that she was concealing something.
The mercenary gave her an unpleasant smile, then addressed Callas. ‘Is the room ready?’
Callas nodded. ‘My men will show you.’
‘And the item I asked for?’
‘Waiting for you. It was not easy to find at short notice, but my people have their resources.’
‘Good.’ Stikes nodded to the jailer. ‘Bring her out.’
‘What are you going to do with her?’ Kit demanded, rattling his cell’s bars.
‘The same thing I’m going to do to you later,’ Stikes replied, chillingly matter-of-fact.
‘Then take me first. I’m an Interpol officer, and Dr Wilde is my responsibility.’
A sound of sarcastic amusement from the general. ‘He is quite a hero.’
‘Is he, though?’ Stikes eyed Kit curiously. ‘But that’s what I intend to find out. In the meantime . . . ’ He stepped back as the jailer unlocked Nina’s cell and the soldiers moved to bring her out. ‘A little chat with Dr Wilde.’
‘Get your goddamn hands off me,’ Nina snarled, jerking out of one soldier’s grip. The other man backed her into a corner, and they both grabbed her. She kicked at them. ‘Fuck you!’
‘Rather unladylike language,’ said Stikes. ‘Chase really is a bad influence.’ He closed the case. ‘General, if you’ll excuse me?’
Callas smirked. ‘Enjoy yourself.’
‘Oh, I will.’ He signalled for the soldiers to take Nina, and followed them from the cells.
‘Nina!’ shouted Kit, but he was cut off as the heavy door slammed shut.
Nina was dragged down a white-painted passage to another small room. It had apparently once been used for storage, but the shelves were now empty – except for two small boxes and a single glove of thick black leather. One box was tightly secured by an elastic band, several little holes poked in its side. A rust-scabbed metal chair sat beneath the glaring overhead light.
Lengths of rope were coiled on its seat.
Nina fought to break loose, but the soldiers forced her on to the chair and held her as Stikes tied her wrists securely to its armrests, then her ankles to the front legs. He finished by looping the last length of rope tightly round her chest. ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ he asked.
‘Go fuck yourself!’
Stikes was unfazed. ‘Then we’ll begin.’ He told the soldiers to leave, then closed the door and opened the case again, revealing its ancient contents. ‘El Dorado,’ he said. ‘I always thought it was just a myth.’
‘It is a myth.’
‘The paintings in that temple suggest otherwise. This Paititi may have been the last outpost of the Incas, but there was a much greater settlement along the way. El Dorado.’ He went to the shelves and picked up the ominous glove. The leather creaked softly.
‘Whatever it’s called, it’s not El Dorado,’ Nina insisted, trying to draw out the purely verbal part of his interrogation for as long as possible. The punctures in the box could only be air holes; there was something alive inside it . . . and the protective glove suggested it was deeply unpleasant. ‘That’s a completely different legend. The Conquistadors got it mixed up with the story of the Incas hiding their . . . gold . . . ’ She tailed off as Stikes pulled on the glove, clenching his fingers into a fist.
‘Semantics,’ he said. ‘The name may be wrong, but the story, it seems, is true. Somewhere in Peru is an unimaginable fortune. I did a little Googling upstairs just now. The ransom room, which the Inca emperor said he would fill with gold if the Spanish set him free, was seven metres by five and a half. Thirty-eight and a half square metres. Assuming it was two metres high, that would be—’
‘Seventy-seven cubic metres.’
Stikes seemed almost impressed. ‘Correct. Seventy-seven cubic metres . . . of gold. Do you know how much that would be worth?’