“I unnerved them. Big angry men with guns make me nervous. They told me to go and wait in the lounge area in the terminal.”
“How many?”
“Six, well six that I saw.”
Cash looked at Rigs who was already moving. The terminal was off to their left, a half mile away down the private approach road.
“Kill the lights!” Cash called to the taxi driver. There was no other traffic on the road. Their taxi’s lights were the only ones on the road and they had been stationary on the road for a couple of minutes. Cash could make out their plane in the distance. If he could see it, they could see them.
“Sophie, get back in the taxi,” instructed Cash. “You too,” he said to the steward.
He climbed into the passenger seat. “We’re going to drive slowly towards the plane but take the road to the terminal where we’ll stop briefly and drop them off,” he said, pointing at Sophie and the steward. “Just at the point we’re out of sight of the plane. Then we’ll continue slowly towards the plane.”
“We’re not getting the hell out of here?!” asked Sophie, stunned.
Cash shook his head. “This could be a lead.”
“Are you mad?”
Cash shrugged, this was what he did. He urged the taxi driver on.
The taxi driver remained stationary. He was old enough to remember the brutal reputation of the Bolivian secret police, protector of the Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie for many years.
“No señor.” He shook his head.
Cash reached back to Rigs bag and pulled out a pistol, placing it at the taxi driver’s head.
“Cash!” shouted Sophie in disgust while the steward screamed in panic.
“Drive,” ordered Cash, ignoring them. A couple of minutes later, Cash enjoyed the silence brought on by dropping off the passengers. Sophie had chastised him all the way, not holding back on how little she thought of his abuse of power over the taxi driver, to whom she repeatedly apologized.
In silence, they approached the plane, which sat alone at the far end of the terminal in a special area of the apron reserved for private aircraft.
“Stop here,” said Cash.
Cash sat and waited, making no attempt to move. He’d wait all night if need be. The police were going to have to come to him.
Seconds became a minute, a minute became five. Still, Cash sat in the seat not willing to move. Five minutes became ten. Still he waited. He kept his eye on the clock on the dashboard. He sat motionless, not even moving his head. He didn’t want it to look as though he was watching the time.
After twelve minutes, the police cracked. They moved. Two exited the plane tentatively, followed by another two. When the first two hit the bottom of the stairs, Cash flicked the door handle and shouted at the taxi driver to accelerate.
As the taxi accelerated towards them, the police dived out of the way, while Cash rolled out from the car to the far side of the plane, his trailing foot kicking the door shut as he braced for impact onto the apron. He rolled over and over into the semi-darkness afforded by the spacing of the floodlights directed onto the plane.
While Cash lay prone, the first bullets pinged at the policemen’s feet. Rigs, off in the darkness with a silenced rifle, had four of the policemen at his mercy, caught cold in the openness of the apron. Any attempt to run back to the plane, the only cover they had, was met with a clear warning. Bullets pinged in three burst shots mere feet away from them.
“Throw your weapons down and no one gets hurt!” shouted Cash, his body barely visible as the police struggled against the glare of the floodlights. His pistol was pointed directly at their bodies and he wasn’t going to issue warning shots.
The four policemen dropped their weapons.
“And the two in the plane!” Cash snapped. “You’ve got three seconds!”
“Okay, Okay, don’t shoot!” The two policemen’s guns flew out of the plane door, quickly followed by their owners.
Cash stood up and walked over slowly, his pistol sweeping across the men.
“Rigs!” shouted Cash needlessly, as Rigs appeared out of the darkness.
“On the ground,” Cash demanded.
“Cash Harris?” asked the oldest policeman in the group.
“Grab the concrete!” Cash ordered forcefully.
“Travis Davies sent us,” the policeman said, but nonetheless complied with Cash’s order.
“How do I know you’re not lying?” asked Cash warily.
“He said you’d ask that,” said the policeman. “And he told me to say, he’d expect nothing less.”
Cash withdrew his pistol and Rigs slung his rifle around his shoulder. Travis always talked of how he expected nothing less of the two. It had become a bit of a catchphrase.
“Apologies,” said Cash, offering his hand to help the officer up. Rigs held back. His rifle was on his shoulder but could be back in action with the simplest of movements.
“It’ll teach us a lesson,” said the elder policemen. “I assume the whiny steward alerted you?”
Cash nodded.
“Amateur error,” he said, dusting down his uniform. “Frankly, we couldn’t listen to him any longer but I didn’t think he’d go running to help you.”
Cash shrugged. “So what does Travis want?”
“For you to call him.”
“And that takes six men?”
“He thought we’d be safer in numbers, one or two and you might have just shot us.”
“Good point,” said Cash, watching Rigs nod in agreement.
Chapter 38
The conversation with Travis had started out short, sweet and to the point. He didn’t want Cash and Rigs anywhere near the agency. He was cutting them loose. Before Cash could respond in outrage, Travis silenced him with one comment. They were the only two in the whole fucking agency he could trust and for that reason, he didn’t want them anywhere near it. The agency was rotten; the whole intelligence network was rotten. It had to be, there was no way twenty Afghans could have pulled off that operation without a network of support. And there was no way that size of operation should have been able to elude the entire US intelligence operation.
“It’s worrying,” agreed Cash, relaxing into the seat on the plane as they prepared for takeoff.
“The scariest part is I think I’m the only one that’s actually worried. Everyone else seems to be relieved,” sighed Travis.
“We’ve got a couple of leads, they’re a bit out there though,” said Cash, raising an eyebrow from Sophie, who had barely looked at him since the taxi driver incident.
“Anything is one hundred percent more than we’ve got, but wait, you might be able to clear something up. Senator Albert Noble, or Bertie Noble. How well do you know him?”
“We’ve gone before him a couple of times in Senate hearings, other than that, not very well.”
“He mentioned your father was friends with his niece at university?”
Cash scanned his memory. “Nope, don’t remember him ever mentioning it to me, do you know her name?”
“It’ll be something Noble. You know their name tells you how senior they are within the family?”
“How does that work?” asked Cash perplexed.
“If their first name begins with an A they’re more senior than the one’s with a B then the next level down’s a C,” he nodded.
“Bullshit,” said Cash. “That’s just some conspiracy theory rubbish surely.”
“I don’t know but trust me, the higher in the alphabet their name, the more power they have! Atlas Noble, Antoine Noble and his son’s called Alex. A bit like different levels of royalty I suppose, King, Prince, Earl, Duke…”
“It’ll just be a coincidence,” suggested Cash halfheartedly.
“Wait a minute, there’s something else. They’re all Noble. Come to think of it, they really are all called Noble…”
“Well, they are the Noble family,” said Cash, not getting what Travis was alluding to.
“Yeah
, but you’d normally find other surnames. You know, the daughters marrying someone else? Anyway, sorry I don’t know her name but your father never mentioned a connection to the Nobles?”
“My father and I hadn’t really spoken much for some time…” said Cash quietly.
“Yes, of course, sorry. Anyway it’s no big deal. It all seemed a little off but the Senator was almost killed as well, so it’s a bit of waste of time.” He stopped himself, bringing the conversation back on track. “You mentioned a lead?”
“It’s a bit tenuous,” Cash began slowly, as he didn’t quite understand it himself. “Hold on, I’m going to put you on speaker.” Once he did, he spoke again. “With me is Sophie Kramer, she has a doctorate in…”
“Astronomy,” Sophie said, saving Cash the embarrassment.
“She’s been going through my dad’s research work and…” he motioned for Sophie to take over the conversation.
“Professor Harris had a theory, I think Cash referred to it earlier as being a bit out there and to be honest, he’s probably right,” she conceded, blowing a silent raspberry to Cash. “But if we start with the principle that Hubble 2 was the target, his theory may hold some credence.”
Travis was keen to hear more.
“He believes there is a great secret about our future, one that ancient civilizations were aware of but were wiped out in order to protect it.”
“Wiped out?”
“He believed there are guardians who are protecting the secret and who will go to any lengths to protect it.”
“Does he know what the secret was?”
“Oh my God!” Cash exclaimed.
“What?” came a chorus from everyone, including Rigs.
“The message from my father’s deputy, from the observatory before he was killed. He said my father was right.”
“About what?” asked Sophie.
“About everything, but then the line cut out.”
“And James, his deputy was working with Hubble 2!” Sophie’s level of excitement was reaching fever pitch. “Which was shot out of the sky at the same time the observatory and all of its data was destroyed and James was killed.”
“Protecting a secret!” said Travis.
“Exactly.”
“We would need Hubble 2 to see it,” said Rigs under his breath to Cash.
“Of course,” said Sophie. “They destroyed it for a reason. They’ve not destroyed any other telescopes.”
“How long to build another Hubble 2?” asked Cash, trying to rebuild hope.
“Ten to twenty years,” Sophie said flatly.
“We don’t know if we need Hubble 2. Perhaps the timing was coincidental?” said Rigs.
“Rigs, you’re a genius!” exclaimed Sophie. “Timing. Professor Harris’s research talks about a window of time. It’s marked out by the ancient ruins, they map the timing of the event.”
“It sounds like you’re about to go into details my brain will struggle to comprehend,” said Travis. “I also think, given recent events, that we’ll keep what you’re doing between us.”
“Good idea.”
“Cash, do you remember that old Hotmail account?” Travis asked.
“Yes,” replied Cash.
“Same as previously, we’ll correspond through the drafts. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know, otherwise I’ll leave you guys to it. How are you guys for transport?”
“Rigs’ trust fund is taking a pasting,” replied Cash.
“I’ll leave a draft email with the details of an untraceable account to use, reimburse Rigs for what he’s used so far. Good luck guys!”
Travis hung up.
“So where to?” asked Cash, looking at Sophie. She opened the laptop.
“Machu Picchu, Peru,” she said, barely able to believe the Director of the CIA had bought into the idea. She felt a shiver run down her spine. She had a horrible feeling they were about to open a Pandora’s box and once opened, there was no way to shut it.
Chapter 39
Alejandro Velasco Astete International Airport
Cusco, Peru
The small corporate jet touched down just after midnight local time. Steve opened the DIS folder. Cusco was home to 350,000 people, elevation 11,152 feet above sea level, a world heritage site and was once the center of the Incan Empire. The detail continued with a full demographic breakdown and history of the city. However, none of it was the least bit helpful. The only relevant piece of information was that it was 47 miles from Machu Picchu.
“We’ve got a second chance to take these guys.” Steve looked across at Charlie, her face flushing red. “Let’s make sure we don’t fuck it up again,” he said, staring into her eyes. He had had to abandon his wife in the middle of an anniversary dinner when the job came through; an anniversary dinner that would have been fine if Charlie had remembered the sex of her fake baby. If she had, these guys would already be dead and no job would have come through.
“Maybe if we stuck to Charlene…”
“I’d remember I’m a girl?” she asked. He had pushed her too far. She had apologized during the entire flight to no avail. His shitty mood wasn’t lifting.
“Boss, Charlie gets the point,” said Zach.
“Yeah, boss,” said Liam, the fourth and final member of the team.
Steve looked at his three young protégés, all plucked directly from the forces, unlike himself, who was former forces and CIA. They may have lacked the investigative and analytical skills he had picked up from the agency, but he wouldn’t want anyone else by his side when the shit hit the fan. They were exceptional soldiers.
“I’m sorry, it was a big night. Our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,” he explained. “Anyway, we’ve got to get there ASAP, this is their most likely destination.”
His team didn’t need any further orders. They grabbed their kits and headed to the door of the jet, following him down and out, straight to the taxi rank.
“Machu Picchu,” said Steve to one of only two taxis waiting outside the airport.
The driver looked at Steve and his three companions eagerly waiting by his side and laughed.
“Machu Picchu? You can’t drive there, you need to catch a train,” said the driver.
“So take us to the train.”
“Next train’s at 6:00 a.m.”
Steve checked his watch. “12:15 a.m.”
“Helicopter?”
“Not allowed, train or trek.”
The other taxi driver had wandered over. There was little else going on. He had overheard the conversation. “There’s the 5:07 from Sacred Valley. It’s the first train of the day and the quickest.”
“Fine, take us there!”
“It’s a two-hour drive and at this time of night—”
“I don’t care how much it costs!”
Charlie was looking up the train times on her smart phone. “He’s right, the Sacred Valley train gets in at 6.34, long before the train from Cusco.”
“Pile in, we’ll take both taxis,” said Steve, calculating in his mind how he would have had more than enough time to have his anniversary dinner and still flown down in time to catch the early train. His mood darkened again.
***
Cash woke up when the first hint of sunlight crept through the window. Their flight from Bolivia had taken just under an hour the previous evening and, thanks to his father’s research, had highlighted the best place to stay. It had taken some time to get there but it had been worth it. The Machu Picchu Sanctuary Lodge was a luxury hotel a few hundred yards from the ruins.
Cash jumped in the shower. When he was out and dressed and hearing no signs of life from either of his companions’ rooms, he headed out into the fresh morning air. The sun’s rays were beginning to peek over the mountain ranges that loomed all around sending shards of light shooting down into the valley below. Cash walked across to the entrance of the ruins. The ticketing office and entrance were unmanned. The first bus from the valley below wasn’t due for another
forty-five minutes.
He wandered on into the ruins. The terraces cut down the mountainside below him, revealing layers of farming ground, with many structures sitting along the ridge. Similar to the ruins at Pumapunka and Tiwanaku, the stonework was stunning. The lower layers of the buildings featured stones carved so precisely that they sat together without the need for mortar. Their size defied the location. Huge stones, carved to perfection, which would have been transported thousands of feet up a sheer mountainside. Water flowed through perfectly carved channels following Cash as he walked along the length of the ruins.
He closed his eyes, the silence interrupted only by the water running through the channels, as had been planned centuries earlier.
“Cash?” came a shout from up ahead.
He opened his eyes. Sophie was waving at him from the farthest most part of the ruins. She must have been up before him. He walked over to meet her, marveling at the ornately carved stone that protruded from the ground.
“The Intihuantana,” she said. “It’s part of another astronomical calendar.”
Cash looked out across the mountains that surrounded them. “It’s an amazing place.”
“Lost for five hundred years and only rediscovered in 1911,” she said, packing her gear away.
“So it’s five hundred years old?” asked Cash.
“Some of it, but not all of it. Your father guessed far older, certainly the earlier structures. You may have noticed a difference in the construction.”
“Yeah,” nodded Cash. “The lower stones are larger and cut precisely, the higher stones are far smaller and nowhere near as well cut.”
“Exactly, it seems the builders got worse as time progressed and tools advanced,” she said sarcastically.
“Any idea how old?”
Sophie shook her head and attempted to hoist her bag onto her shoulder. He caught it and put it over his.
“Where next?” he asked.
“I’m done,” she said, yawning.
“How can you be done, you said you needed a few hours here!”
She yawned again. “Yep, and like I said, all done.”
“You didn’t go to bed?”
The God Complex: A Thriller Page 18