voice was flat. ‘He’s dead.’
Nina eased her hold and leaned back. ‘What about you? How . . . how are you feeling?’
It took a few seconds for him to provide an answer. ‘I’m okay.’ In truth, he didn’t know what he was feeling – or even if he felt anything at all. He had expected some sort of catharsis at Pachac’s death, a release of anger or satisfaction or a sense that justice had been done . . . but there was nothing, just an empty numbness.
‘You sure?’ There was concern in her voice.
‘Yeah.’ He looked away, at the Patrol. ‘Get the satphone. We need to call this in.’
The chatter of rotor blades echoed off the cliffs around the entrance to El Dorado. This time, though, the helicopters were not gunships but transport aircraft, both civil and military. Nina’s call to the Peruvian government, telling them what had happened – and what she had found – brought a rapid response, the first soldiers arriving to secure the area within an hour.
More troops soon followed, accompanied by civilian officials. Taking charge of the operation was Felipe Alvarado, Zender’s superior and head of the Ministry of Culture. In his late fifties, he had a weary, cynical face that suggested he’d seen it all – but his astounded expression when he emerged from the cave proved that that was not the case. ‘Dr Wilde!’ he cried. ‘This is amazing, incredible! El Dorado, real – and in my country!’
Nina was too exhausted to respond with similar enthusiasm. ‘Yeah. It’s a hell of a thing.’
‘The lost city of gold – it is almost too much to believe. I admit, when the IHA first asked permission to search for it, I did not believe it.’
‘Is that why you sent Zender instead of coming yourself?’
Alvarado’s gaze moved to the edge of the drained pool, where several forms lay beneath sheets: some of those killed inside the cave, recovered by the soldiers. ‘Oh, Diego,’ he said with a tinge of sadness. ‘He wanted to be in the news, for everyone to know his name. But not like this.’
‘Nobody wants to be remembered like this,’ Nina said.
‘No.’ He gazed at the bodies for a moment, then looked back at the cavern. Several soldiers were making their way down the collapsed wall, bearing more corpses on stretchers. The first was dressed in dirty and mismatched camouflage gear; one of the revolutionaries. ‘But something good has come from this,’ Alvarado continued. ‘Pachac and his butchers are dead. You have done my country a great favour by killing them.’
‘I’m sure my husband’ll be thrilled to hear that,’ said Nina bitterly, eyes fixed on another of the bodies being brought out.
Mac.
‘He should be,’ said Alvarado. ‘But I am sorry for the loss of your friends.’
‘Thank you.’
He was about to add something when an official called out to him. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, moving away to speak to his subordinate. On the way he passed Eddie, returning from having his injuries treated by a Peruvian army medic. The Englishman stopped when he saw Mac, watching as he was placed alongside the other corpses. A soldier prepared to pull a sheet over the unmoving figure.
‘No!’ Eddie snapped, hurrying over. ‘I’ll do it.’ He crouched and took hold of the sheet . . . but didn’t pull it up. Instead, he stared down at his friend’s still, pale face.
Nina joined him. Seconds passed, Eddie still holding the sheet in silence. Finally, she spoke. ‘Eddie?’
He twitched, as if surprised to hear her voice, then abruptly pulled the sheet over Mac’s head and stood. ‘What?’
‘I’m so sorry. Are . . . are you okay?’ She gently touched his arm.
He pulled away – only slightly, but enough to give her a shock of dismay, rejection. ‘No. I’m not.’
‘What can I do? Do you want anything?’
‘I just need to think.’ Face set and unreadable, he turned away and limped towards the nearby trees.
‘Eddie . . .’ Nina said quietly, her voice tailing off with the hopeless feeling that nothing she could say would help.
‘Nina?’ Macy, approaching with Kit and Osterhagen. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Not really,’ Nina replied, still watching Eddie’s retreat.
Macy’s lips quivered as she realised who was under the sheet. ‘Oh, that’s . . . Mr McCrimmon. Oh . . .’ Tears welled in her eyes.
Kit, looking equally stricken, put a hand on her shoulder. His sleeve had been cut away, the bullet wound to his arm bandaged. ‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ he said quietly, as much to himself as