Matt rolled over and got dizzily to his feet.
“Qué era?” Pedro demanded.
“It was a condor,” Professor Chambers said. “But it’s impossible. There are no condors in this part of Peru.”
Once again, Matt remembered what the amauta had said in the lost city.
“The birds fly where they should not fly.”
Condors. In the Nazca Desert. At night.
“It’s coming back!” Richard shouted.
There was a second scream and a thudding in the air. All of them fell back as the monstrous bird rushed into them again, its green eyes blazing. The bird was black and grey with a thick white collar of feathers around its neck, the rest of its plumage hanging off its body like a ragged cloak. Its beak curved from its head like a dagger, and its claws were outstretched with points that were as sharp as a knife. For a moment it was low down between them and they felt the air beat against their faces. There was a smell of rotting meat. Then it swooped upwards, disappearing into the darkness.
Richard snatched up the Primus stove as if it were a weapon, although he knew that the tiny flame would do no good. “Get into the jeep!” he shouted. “We have to move…”
“Watch out!” Matt warned.
A second bird had dived down, aiming for Richard. The journalist dropped to one knee and its claws missed his head by centimetres. Its huge wings beat at the air, making the flame dance. Like the other bird, it stank of death and decay.
“The jeep!” Richard shouted.
A third condor swooped out of the sky. Then a fourth and a fifth. Suddenly the entire sky seemed to be filled with shrieking, savage creatures. Atoc shouted. One of the condors had landed on his shoulder. Matt stared in horror as it twisted round and began to attack Atoc’s neck, ripping skin and flesh with its beak. Atoc tried to beat it off but it refused to let go. Blood was pouring from his neck and down his shirt. Matt ran forward. He had picked up a spade and with all his strength he swung it, slamming the metal end into the bird, barely centimetres away from Atoc’s head. He felt the jolt as the spade came into contact with flesh and bone. The bird was smashed to the ground, its own neck broken, but still it wouldn’t die. It thrashed around, its wings beating uselessly. Its beak was sticky with Atoc’s blood.
“Matteo!”
It was Pedro who had yelled. Another bird had landed on his back, its claws acting like grappling irons. It was pecking at his head, over and over again, its beak disappearing into his hair. To Matt it seemed as if the boy and the bird had become one. All he could see was Pedro’s arms flailing about, with two gigantic wings spreading from his back.
Richard saved him. With one hand, he ripped the bird off Pedro’s shoulders, then shoved the Primus stove into it with his other. The blue flame touched the feathers and the bird seemed to explode as the fire took it instantly. It screamed again and again. Then it collapsed to the ground, kicked its legs feebly and lay still.
The stove had gone out.
“Are you all right?” Richard shouted.
Pedro touched the back of his head. When his hand came away, there was blood on his fingers.
“We have to get to the jeep…”
Professor Chambers was already there. So far she hadn’t been touched. She fumbled the keys out of her pocket then threw herself into the driving seat. Even as she reached out to close the door, another condor swooped down, aiming for her hand. She slammed the door in its face, pushed the keys into the ignition and turned the engine on.
Richard, Pedro and Matt all had spades. Together they made for the jeep, swinging at the air, keeping close as a group. Matt was supporting Atoc, who seemed dazed, his hand clamped to the wound on his neck. Blood was trickling between his fingers. There was a roar from the engine and the jeep charged towards them and stopped. Matt helped Atoc into the front seat. He saw Richard lash out with his spade. There was a screech and a body thumped into the ground.
Somehow, the three of them managed to get into the back.
“This is impossible!” Professor Chambers cried.
“Just get us out of here!” Richard yelled back. “We can talk about it later.”
The professor slammed her foot onto the accelerator and the jeep’s wheels spun. For a horrible moment, Matt thought they were stuck. But then the tyres found a grip and they were propelled forward, heading towards the highway.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Even as Matt slumped gratefully back, something hammered into the roof of the jeep and the next thing he knew, there was a ripping sound and the head of a condor burst through. At the same time, two more condors swung into the sides, holding on with their claws and tearing through the soft material with their beaks. The jeep zigzagged. Matt and Pedro were thrown left and right. It seemed that Professor Chambers had lost control. But she had seen what was happening and was deliberately wrenching the wheel, trying to throw the birds off.
Richard punched upwards. His fist caught one of the condors in the stomach and at once it was gone, whipped away into the night. Matt felt a sharp pain and cried out. Another condor had managed to get halfway in. It was pecking at his face and had drawn blood on his cheek. A couple of centimetres higher to the left and it would have taken out his eye.
“Can you go any faster?” Richard demanded.
“Not on this surface! I’m going as fast as I can!” the professor shouted.
“We’re not going to make it!” Richard looked up. The roof had been torn through in several places. There were still condors attached to the jeep. He could see them through the gaps. He heard another hideous, unearthly screech and yet another condor burst through. It was inside the jeep – a stinking, flapping ball of bone, feather and claw. It lunged at Matt.
Suddenly there was an explosion, so loud that it was deafening. Pedro jerked back in shock. Matt felt his ears ringing.
It was Atoc. He had one hand clasped over the wound on his neck but in the other he was holding a gun. He had never even mentioned that he had it. Now, when it was almost too late, he had used it, firing at point blank range into the bird’s body. The bullet tore through it. The condor’s beak snapped open, impossibly wide. The light in its eyes went out. Atoc fired five more times, aiming at different points of the roof. The other condors fell away.
And then they hit the highway. Matt felt the tyres bump onto the asphalt and a moment later they had picked up speed. He looked back. A few condors were still circling but they were already far behind.
“I … sorry,” Atoc said. “I leave gun in jeep.”
“Are you OK?” Richard asked.
Atoc nodded. “Not hurt too bad.”
“I have bandages at the house,” Professor Chambers said.
The jeep tore down the Pan-American Highway leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. The last condors watched it disappear, then wheeled back into the darkness from which they’d come.
EVIL STAR
“I’m wrong,” Professor Chambers said. “I don’t understand it. But I’ve checked and double-checked.”
“What do you mean?” Richard asked.
“The stars! That’s what I mean. I was sure I was right. But I’ve looked at them and they simply don’t add up.”
It was eleven o’clock the following morning and they were sitting in the garden, where Matt, Pedro and Richard had just finished a late breakfast. All three of them felt a little guilty, knowing that the professor had worked all night – but she didn’t seem even slightly tired. Atoc was in his room, still resting. A local doctor had stitched up the wound in his neck and given him a tetanus shot and some penicillin. He was still in pain but he was going to be all right. Pedro had been luckier. The skull is the toughest part of the human body and it had protected him from the condor’s attack. He was missing a few bits of hair and he, too, had been given an anti-tetanus jab, but he was otherwise fine.
Matt had spoken with him the night before, while they slept.
“Where did they come from?” Pedro asked. “The cond
ors…”
“From the Old Ones,” Matt replied. “They must have been guardians. They were protecting the place of Qolqa. I knew there was something wrong, something evil, the moment we arrived.”
“It was cold.”
“Yes. When something bad’s about to happen, I always feel cold.”
“Me too.”
The mainland was getting nearer. Soon they would arrive.
“The old man in Vilcabamba … he said that one of us was going to get killed,” Pedro muttered.
“He said one of us might.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know.”
“He also said that whichever one of us it was, he’d be on his own. But I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to stick with you.”
Matt sighed. “I wish it was as easy as that. But it feels like everything’s already been decided.”
“No, Matteo. Nobody makes decisions for me. You and me …we’re the ones in charge.”
Matt was dragged back to reality when Professor Chambers produced a sheaf of computer printouts and laid them on the breakfast table.
It was a warm summer’s day. The birds were singing. A gardener was mowing the lawn. And here they were talking about the end of the world.
“I’ve made my calculations based on the position of the platform and the position of the stars in two days’ time – on Inti Raymi,” Professor Chambers went on. “And you remember what I told you? My idea…?”
“You said they’d line up,” Richard said.
“I said it would happen once every twenty-six thousand years. And the extraordinary thing is that it does happen, very, very nearly tomorrow night. It’s quite incredible. It’s what I’ve been saying for thirty years. But there’s one star missing. I’ve gone over it a dozen times but I’m not mistaken. One star won’t be there.”
“Which star?” Matt asked.
“Cygnus. It’s actually made up of seven stars and it’s also known as the Northern Cross. It’s seventy thousand times brighter than the sun and it’s so far away that when you look at it, you’re actually seeing it as it was at the time of Christ.
“If you were standing on the platform at the place of Qolqa in two days’ time, you’d look for it between the two mountain ranges. All the other stars would be in the right place. But Cygnus wouldn’t be anywhere to be seen. It would be about thirty degrees off course, hidden behind the moon.”
“So that’s the end of it!” Richard exclaimed. “Salamanda stole the diary and tried to kill Matt for nothing. It doesn’t matter how rich or powerful he is. There’s nothing he can do. He can’t move a star.”
“There are too many stars,” Matt said.
“What?”
“It’s what the old man said. The birds fly in the wrong places and there are too many stars in the night sky. That was how he knew the gate was going to open.”
“Well, he wasn’t wrong with the first part,” Richard agreed.
“But why did he say there were too many? Professor Chambers says there’s one star too few!”
Nobody spoke. The gardener, a cheerful man in a straw hat, had finished mowing the lawn. Now he had disappeared behind the bushes but they could hear the snapping of his shears as he trimmed the leaves.
“St Joseph of Cordoba predicted that the second gate would open on Inti Raymi,” Richard said. Professor Chambers leant over and began to translate quietly for Pedro. “Perhaps he was here with the conquistadors. He somehow discovered the secret of the lines and it drove him mad. Salamanda stole the diary because he wanted to know the secret. And he hasn’t given up! He’s chased Matt all over Peru because he’s afraid of him. There must be something he knows that we don’t.”
“Qué hacía el pájaro en su sueño?” Pedro asked.
“He’s asking – what about the bird in your dream?” Professor Chambers translated. “What does he mean?” she asked.
“I was going to tell you,” Matt said, “but I didn’t because I wasn’t sure if it was part of it. It’s true. I’ve been having bad dreams about a swan.”
“God! I’m an idiot…” Professor Chambers closed her eyes for a moment. “Cygnus,” she said. “That’s Latin …”
Everyone looked at her.
“…for swan.” Richard completed the sentence.
The professor held up a hand for silence. Matt could see the thought processes going through her head. Her blue eyes had never been more alive. At last, she looked up.
“Listen,” she began, “I thought the lines were a warning, but suppose I was only half right. Let’s imagine they were something more than that. You came to Peru looking for a gate. We still don’t know where it is. But if it’s closed, there must be something that keeps it closed.”
“You mean … a sort of lock?” Matt said.
“That’s right. And if so, why can’t it be a combination lock?”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. Think of the Nazca Lines as a fantastic time lock. They sit there, keeping the gate closed. That’s why they were built. Only when the stars form the right patterns, only then will the gate open and the Old Ones be free. That’s how it works.”
“But the whole purpose of the gate was that it should never open,” Richard said.
“That’s right,” Professor Chambers said again. “Which is why the gatekeepers made sure that the stars would never align. But two nights from now, they’ll come close. In fact, it’s as close as they’ll ever get. Just one star is going to be missing…”
“And Salamanda is going to replace it!” Matt interrupted. “When I was in his house, I heard him talking.” It was all coming back to him. “He said something about a silver swan. There were co-ordinates. He had to move it exactly into position.”
He stopped. Suddenly the answer was obvious.
“A satellite,” he said.
“Exactly,” Professor Chambers agreed. “Salamanda launched a new satellite just one week ago. It’s been in the newspapers. Everyone knows. And what he’s going to do is position it exactly where Cygnus ought to be. An artificial star instead of the real one. The satellite will complete the pattern of light. The time lock will be activated. And…”
“And the gate will open,” Matt said.
“We can stop him!” Richard said.
The professor shook her head. “I don’t see how. The satellite’s already in space. Salamanda will be controlling it by radio. If we knew the frequency, perhaps we might be able to jam the signal but we’d have to get our hands on the right equipment and I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Anyway, the transmitter will be at the SNI compound at Paracas and we could never get in.”
“Where is Paracas?” Matt asked.
“Not too far from here. That makes it perfect for Salamanda. It’s on the coast, about three hundred miles north.”
“Can we go and see it?”
“We can drive there. But I’ve gone past it a couple of times, Matt – and I’m telling you. You’d need a small army to break in.”
Salamanda’s Research and Telecommunications Centre at Paracas was a couple of miles inland, a hi-tech compound surrounded by desert. Not one but two fences surrounded it. The first was ten metres high, with razor wire stretched across the top. The second carried bright yellow signs that warned would-be trespassers in three languages. The outer fence was electrified. The space in between was patrolled, day and night, by guards with dogs. Two watchtowers looked over the desert, one at each corner. The only way in was through a gate that slid open electronically to allow vehicles to pass, and there was a control room and a barrier that was only raised once every driver had been checked.
The compound itself consisted of a cluster of low, ugly buildings of red brick with panels of mirror glass. The scientists and staff might be able to look out but nobody could look in. A radio mast loomed overhead, standing on metal legs with satellite dishes turned towards the sky. The building closest to it was also the most modern, with a glass do
me at the centre of the roof but no windows at all. This appeared to be the control centre.
Three lines of identical, whitewashed houses stood at the perimeter. They were also built of brick but looked more primitive and Matt suspected that this was where the staff lived. They had been constructed around a rough, concrete square which seemed to double as an eating area and a football pitch. There was even a television on a metal stand, surrounded by wooden benches. Presumably the workers watched TV in the open air in the evenings.
Matt had seen some of them, dressed in grey overalls with the letters SNI printed in red on their sleeves. He had also seen what he assumed were scientists, wearing white coats, as well as others in suits. Salamanda had a fleet of electric cars, little more than golf buggies, to ferry them between buildings. There was also a launch pad with a small, black helicopter in the middle. Armed guards in military dress patrolled the entire compound on foot and mounted security cameras swivelled to take in anyone who passed.
Matt, Pedro, Richard and Atoc were lying on a sand dune some distance away, examining the compound through field glasses that Professor Chambers had found for them. She herself was waiting at Paracas. Atoc had a bandage around his neck and moved slowly – but he had insisted on making the journey with them.
“What do you think?” Richard said.
“Professor Chambers was right,” Matt said. “We’d need a small army to break in here.”
“Yes.” Atoc nodded. “And we have one.”
They arrived with the setting sun. They had heard Matt’s call. It had taken them twenty-four hours to cross Peru, coming by car and by train and now they were here, assembling on the beach at Paracas.
The Incas’ army was about fifty strong, dressed in dark jeans and black shirts, ready for the attack that would take place that evening. But if their clothes were modern, their weapons were not. They had brought with them the arms and armour that their ancestors had used. As deadly as they looked, Matt couldn’t help but think that it seemed a bizarre mix.
Some of the Incas wore padded cotton jackets. Some had helmets made from wood that was pitch black and as hard as iron. Some carried wooden shields covered with deerskin and many of them had clubs with a strange, star-shaped head made of stone. This was the macana, a favourite weapon of the ancient Incas. One blow could crack open a skull or fracture a limb.
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