by Alex Archer
Annja was familiar with both the story—that Keating and Thompson had met after the captain had somehow managed to elude the British commander who had captured his ship and hung his crew—and the directions themselves. She’d run across both during her research and had even memorized the latter.
“‘Follow the coastline of the bay till you find a creek where, at high-water mark, you go up a stream that flows inland. After passing the Three Sisters, step out seventy paces, west by south, and against the skyline you will see the gap in the hills. From any other point, the gap is invisible. Turn north and walk to a stream. You will see a hole large enough for you to insert your thumb. Thrust in an iron bar, twist it around in the cavity and behind you will find a door which opens on the treasure.’”
Claire laughed. “Very good! Robert memorized all the old accounts, as well. He was determined to find the ‘loot of Lima’ as he called it.”
Annja could certainly understand the mind-set. Finding something that had been missing and presumed lost for centuries was an experience unlike any other, and the high you got from it could last for weeks; she knew from firsthand experience. And unlike the high from any drug, this one never got old. She was just as excited and breathless each and every time it happened. She had an archaeologist’s soul and she wouldn’t change it for the world.
Claire went on. “Robert had a pair of Zodiacs that his team used to take them upstream. I wasn’t able to add any to our inventory, so we’ll hike up the stream instead. It will take us longer but it will also guarantee that we don’t miss any signs they might have left in their wake.”
Annja didn’t see any issues with the plan, so they pulled on their packs and set out along the shoreline toward the stream mentioned in Keating’s journal. It wasn’t a difficult task, for they’d seen the mouth of the stream while approaching the island. Less than fifteen minutes of walking brought them right to it.
At that point Claire turned the responsibility for taking point over to Annja, who had far more experience in jungle navigation than Claire, Hugo and Marcos did combined.
Annja stayed on the stream’s north shore; it was an arbitrary decision and mainly based on the fact that she didn’t see any reason for them to cross the stream in the first place. That arbitrary decision would prove beneficial to them, however, for less than ten minutes after they began their travel they chanced upon a game trail running parallel to the river and used that to make better time. It wasn’t a big trail by any stretch of the imagination, but it was mainly free of undergrowth, and that made all the difference.
It was darker beneath the trees, the sunlight all but cut off from reaching the ground by the overlapping carpet of leaves hanging above their heads. Annja knew they would lose a good hour or two of hiking time due to the issue, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. They were all carrying high-intensity headlamps like those worn by mountain climbers and cavers, but she knew she was unlikely to order anyone to use them. Moving about in the jungle with lights blazing was just asking for trouble, in Annja’s view, for it would attract a large variety of wildlife, most of which they were better off not encountering.
Can’t be helped, so stop worrying about it, her inner voice said. Cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, concentrate on what’s in front of you.
The air was filled with the rich scent of the tropical forest, and the humidity soon had them all sweating heavily. Annja reminded herself to check the group’s water intake and adjust accordingly; it wouldn’t be hard to dehydrate themselves in these temperatures.
The river ran reasonably straight and on a heading that was almost due south of Chatham Bay, so Annja wasn’t worried about anyone getting lost. Still, she kept them in a tight group for security reasons if nothing else, with her in front, followed by Marcos, then Claire and then Hugo. In case they ran into some unexpected wildlife, both of the men carried rifles slung over their shoulders, and Annja, of course, had her sword, though she would only use it if absolutely necessary.
They had been following the stream for just over an hour when Marcos spotted something along the riverbank about twenty yards ahead of them. Leaving the trail behind, the foursome hacked their way through the undergrowth to reach the bank and then hiked along it for the few extra minutes it took to reach the boats.
Zodiacs were rigid inflatable boats designed to be both durable and portable, making them ideal for expedition work. They could carry several people and a fair degree of supplies and were useful on anything from shallow jungle rivers like this one to the open ocean. This particular pair of boats was made of bright orange synthetic rubber, which was why Marcos had been able to spot them so easily.
They had also been torn to ribbons.
Annja and company stared at what was left of the watercraft in disbelief. Something had slashed through the rubber body, not once, not twice, but more than a dozen times. The cuts were long and narrow, but that told them very little about what had been used to do the deed. Had they simply fallen victim to a large predator or had some human agency been behind the work? The motors were both intact and still attached to each boat at the stern, leading Annja to think the animal theory fit best.
A human, after all, would make certain that the engines were disabled as well, wouldn’t they?
She wasn’t sure.
And that bothered her.
As she stood there, staring down at the ruined boats, the skin on the back of her neck began to crawl.
Annja looked up and down the river and then turned and surveyed the thick jungle behind them. She did her best to look through the dense undergrowth, for patterns instead of individual objects, knowing her mind would automatically try to make sense of any symmetrical objects her gaze washed over. It was why camouflage had been invented—to break up those patterns and disrupt the eye and keep the mind from doing its job.
She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary on the river or in the trees around them, but still...something was making her uneasy.
She turned her attention back to the boat and found Marcos standing a few feet away, watching her. He glanced in the direction she’d been looking and then back at her.
“See something?” he asked
Annja shook her head. “No. Just on edge, that’s all.”
She realized after saying it that she hadn’t been lying, either. She was on edge. Had been since they’d found the Supay mask aboard the Sea Dancer.
What did it mean?
“What do you think happened?” Claire asked, her gaze still on the ruined boats in front of her.
“Los cocodrilos,” Hugo said, pointing, and even Annja didn’t need that one translated for her.
Crocodiles.
Annja followed his finger to where it was pointing at a spot close to the water’s edge. Moving closer, she could see a set of four-toed tracks leading from the water up the bank toward the boats. Hugo was right; crocodiles had certainly been here.
Annja wasn’t quite convinced that they were responsible for the destruction of the boats, but she kept that to herself. No sense worrying the others.
Instead, she said, “There’s no sign of blood or anything heavy being dragged down into the river, so I’d say the boats were empty when the damage was done. Nothing to worry about, Claire.”
Claire nodded. “Yes, yes, you’re right. Robert would have said something to me when we spoke on the phone that first night if someone had been hurt.”
She glanced at the others, saw no disagreement and said, “Onward, then.”
Knowles had told Claire before his disappearance that they had abandoned the boats because the water had become too shallow and they had struck out overland, continuing to follow the river as he searched for the Three Sisters.
Annja and the others did the same.
They began to see small signs that people had come this way before them—riverbank grasses trampled under a heavy boot, branches of overhanging trees snapped and broken at waist height and above, even a shoe print
left in the soft earth near the waterline. When the bank became too narrow and steep to walk upon, they followed a path where the underbrush had previously been cut through to return to the game trail that they’d been on before. Where the two intersected, a K had been carved into the trunk of a nearby tree.
Apparently Knowles wanted to be certain that he had a means of retracing his steps if his GPS and other high-tech equipment failed. Annja didn’t blame him; she would have done the same thing. She pointed out the marking to the others and told them to keep their eyes open for more of them as they continued forward.
Ten minutes later they found a clearing carved out of the trees just off the trail, and the moment she stepped into it and saw what it contained, Annja knew that she had found them.
The Three Sisters.
It was an apt name for a rock formation, Annja supposed, if one were inclined to name rock formations in the first place, which she wasn’t. But to each his own; the individual who had discovered this one had apparently felt the need, and the Three Sisters really wasn’t a terrible choice. The rocks were roughly the height of the average adult and were arranged so that the two larger, vertical stones stood on either side of the smaller, and shorter, third stone of the trio. Annja had to admit that it did look like three sisters huddled together over a fire. Or rather, it could, if you squinted a little, cocked your head slightly upward while turning it just a bit to the left...
Laughter from behind her caused Annja to self-consciously straighten up. Okay, so maybe it didn’t look all that much like three sisters, but it was the only thing they’d seen so far that even remotely qualified, and Annja was willing to make a judgment call in favor of having found the right spot.
“So now what?” Marcos asked.
Without turning around, Annja said, “‘After passing the Three Sisters, step out seventy paces, west by south, and against the skyline you will see the gap in the hills.’”
She stepped into the clearing, walked past the Sisters and then made a forty-five-degree turn to her left, which would point her in a southwesterly direction.
Step out seventy paces...
She glanced back to see the other three still standing by the edge of the clearing.
“Well, are you coming or aren’t you?” she called.
She chose not to wait for an answer and immediately began counting with every step.
Annja only made it as far as fifty-eight, for it was at that point that she stepped between several trees and suddenly came face-to-face with a life-size statue of Supay, the Incan god of death. He looked remarkably similar to the mask they’d found aboard the Sea Dancer.
With one addition.
Someone had slapped a baseball cap on the statue’s head.
16
Annja stared at the baseball cap sitting atop Supay’s head. In all her years of exploring ancient cultures and lost civilizations, she didn’t think she’d ever seen a more incongruous sight.
Which was probably the prankster’s whole reason for doing it.
The statue stood about six feet tall, though the twisted horns rising from its forehead probably added at least another foot to the overall height. It stood with its feet braced and its arms outstretched, as if to catch something running toward it.
Something or someone.
The top half of the statue had been cleared of vines and other overgrowth—recently, too, judging from the looks of it. The lower half, Annja saw, was still mainly obscured behind the foliage. Like the Supay mask they’d found on the Sea Dancer, the statue had once been brightly painted as well, but years of exposure to the elements had stripped it of all but the faintest evidence of its original color scheme. Still, it was an incredible piece of artwork and one that would fetch quite a hefty sum in any museum in the world.
And some jokester had slapped a baseball cap—a Boston Red Sox cap, no less—on its head.
Sacrilege, Annja thought. Anyone who was anyone knew the Bronx Bombers were the only team worth watching.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Claire said from behind her, then marched forward to snatch the cap off the statue’s head.
The statue would probably have been rather terrifying if she’d come upon it in the dark without the cap, but since she’d seen the two items together, it just wasn’t all that sinister anymore.
Claire flipped the hat over and read the name inked into the headband.
“P. Sawyer. I knew it!”
“Do you know him?”
Claire nodded. “He was one of the graduate students Richard worked with over the past few years. Big bloke, always pulling pranks on the other members of the team. And a big Red Sox fan.”
Clearly didn’t learn anything in grad school, then, Annja thought with a smile. Then to the others she said, “Obviously we’re on the right track. Dr. Knowles and his team made it this far. Why don’t we—”
“Mira! La mochila!” Hugo said, pointing as he hustled around the statue. Open ground led just beyond, to where the object in question, a dark blue backpack, lay propped against a tree trunk half a dozen yards away.
Open ground?
There were a few bushes here and there and some short tufts of jungle grasses growing around the edges, but the center was mainly exposed topsoil with a dark gray coloration, almost as if someone had poured water over it recently.
Annja glanced at the backpack, then at the snarling face of the statue of Supay and finally to the open ground that Hugo was racing across.
Ground that seemed to shift and bounce about under each footfall, as if it weren’t really solid at all but just a thin layer of carpet floating atop a sea of water.
Water...
Annja was hit with a sudden sense of foreboding sharp enough to make her gasp.
She shouted at Hugo, trying to make him stop.
“No, Hugo, no! Leave it alone!”
But it was too late. Hugo had crossed half the distance to the backpack when his left leg came down squarely and disappeared up to his knee in the earth beneath his feet. His momentum forced him to take another step to keep from falling over and that foot, too, sank right into the soil on which he stood. Within seconds he was stuck fast.
Recognizing that Hugo had unwittingly stumbled into a quicksand pit, Annja shouted at him to stay still. “Don’t fight it, Hugo. Just relax and stay still. We’ll get you out!”
Hugo either didn’t hear or didn’t understand, for he began to thrash about, trying to yank his legs free through sheer force of muscle. But the activity only caused him to sink even deeper into the muck.
If they didn’t do something quickly, he was going to exhaust himself and end up in more trouble than he was already in.
Annja knew that quicksand was really nothing more than loose sand or earth mixed with water. As the water seeped into a particular stretch of ground, it forced the sand particles away from one another, making them less capable of supporting any significant weight. That in and of itself wasn’t a terrible thing. If this was all that happened, it wouldn’t be too bad. Hugo would get dirty, but he wouldn’t be in any real danger.
The real problem was that the water acted as a kind of vacuum at the same time. As the weight of the object sank into the quicksand, it forced the water away from it, creating an air pocket that acted like a vacuum. It sucked the object even deeper into the muck before the water flowed back in to repeat the cycle all over again. The more a person struggled, the more vacuum action was generated by their movements and the deeper they sank.
Marcos shouted something to Hugo in rapid-fire Spanish and started forward, shedding his pack as he went. He clearly intended to go in after his companion and help.
Annja grabbed Marcos’s arm and spun him around, getting up in his face so that he gave her his attention.
“You can’t go in there!” she said. “You’re even heavier than he is. All you’ll wind up doing is sinking even deeper and then I’ll have two of you stuck and one less person to use to help you break free. I need you h
ere, with me.”
“But he’s going to—”
She didn’t let him finish. “Not if you do as I say. Now help me! Quickly!”
Annja slipped off her backpack and pulled a coiled rope from its interior. She handed one end to Marcos. “Tie it off around that tree over there,” she told him, pointing to a thick banyan tree a few feet away.
As he did so, Annja turned to Claire and said, “See if you can get Hugo to calm down. Tell him to stay still and we’ll pull him out.”
Claire’s insistent tone finally got Hugo’s attention, and by the time Annja was ready to throw him the rope, he’d calmed down considerably. Of course, he had already sunk almost to his armpits by that point, so getting him out was not going to be easy.
Annja’s aim was spot-on; the other end of the rope splashed down right next to Hugo and he snatched it up like a man afraid he’d disappear at any moment. Annja knew that wasn’t really a concern, for quicksand didn’t kill by drowning—despite the way Hollywood had tried to convince moviegoers—but through exposure to the sun and dehydration instead. It trapped you and held you there, leaving you at the mercy of the elements.
Thankfully, Hugo wasn’t alone.
Marcos came running back to where Annja and Claire were waiting.
“Rope’s secure,” he said.
“All right, grab hold of the line like this,” Annja said, demonstrating to Hugo how to hold the line with two hands and to brace himself with his feet for maximum pulling capability.
Annja called out to Hugo, “Relax and let us do the work. We’re going to drag you out.”
He nodded and gave her a thumbs-up without releasing his death grip on the rope.
She turned to her two companions. “Slow and steady,” she told them. “No quick, hard jerks on the line. That quicksand he’s in is as strong as cement. If you yank on it, all you’ll do is pull his arms out of his sockets. He’ll be just as stuck but injured and unable to help on top of everything if that happens.”
After nodding to show that they understood, Marcos and Claire grabbed the rope a few feet behind Annja.