‘I think I know what this is!’ Aleta exclaimed. ‘The earliest civilisations understood hydraulics, and the Inca were no exception. I think this is an ancient hydraulic ram. If I’m right, there are two valves underneath here, and the weight of the water will close one and force another one open, allowing the water to flow into a second chamber. That will compress the air, which will create pressure on the water – enough to exert a strong force.’
The ground began to tremble and O’Connor and Aleta both stepped back as a stone the size of a small door slid into a recess in the granite, revealing a dark tunnel. O’Connor waited, then probed the opening with a long stick, waiting for another ancient booby trap to reveal itself, but the only sound was the gurgling of the water, deep beneath their feet.
‘I suspect as long as the water is diverted into the underground chamber, the stone will remain in the open position,’ O’Connor said, shining his torch down the steeply sloping tunnel. Together they stepped inside the mountain, O’Connor cautiously leading the way.
‘Lamps,’ he said, flashing his torch on the ornate pottery holders still full of oil. A hundred metres further in, they ran into solid rock.
‘There has to be another way,’ O’Connor said, shining his torch over the mossy granite. ‘What was that odd line in the cipher?… Through gold and obsidian it will be revealed?’
‘Up there,’ Aleta said, ‘there’s something glinting.’
O’Connor directed the torch beam onto the glinting dark object in the niche and cautiously put his hand in the small opening in the rock. ‘It feels like a statuette of some sort, but it won’t move … Wait, there’s a lever behind it.’
O’Connor and Aleta stepped back as the massive stone in front of them rolled silently aside.
Aleta gasped. A mummified king stared silently at them from his throne. ‘My God! It’s an Inca tomb!’
‘And seemingly intact, after all these centuries.’ O’Connor ran his machete around the entrance, half expecting to trigger more punji stakes, but there was silence.
‘And look!’ Aleta exclaimed again. ‘Near his feet – the second crystal skull!’
Together they shone their torches around the king’s ancient resting place.
‘Whose tomb do you suppose this is?’ O’Connor asked.
‘I’d have to take a closer look, but from the clothes, even though they’re in threads, I’d guess it’s the burial place of Pachacuti Yupanqui. He died in 1472, and nobody has ever found his tomb.’
O’Connor whistled softly. ‘So this chamber’s over 500 years old. Now I know how Howard Carter felt when he discovered Tutankhamun’s tomb.’
‘Well, let’s hope we don’t meet the same fate,’ said Aleta, playing her torch over the niches filled with solid gold and silver statues and urns overflowing with emeralds and tumbled turquoise, the stone of Inca royalty. Her torch beam rested on the furthest niche and a simple pottery urn. Intrigued, Aleta eased past the mummified remains of the king.
She beckoned O’Connor. ‘Come and have a look at this! It seems out of place.’
O’Connor felt the base of the urn for any signs of a pressure plate and lifted it carefully out of the niche and placed it on the stone floor. A strange blue light began to glow from deep within the crystal skull. Aleta extracted two leather-wrapped packages from the urn and carefully opened them. The first one contained a solid-gold puma head, and the second, an ancient map.
‘A puma head – it has to be the one in the prophecy, the one that will be critical to finding Paititi. And a map of the location of the lost city!’ Aleta exclaimed, her torch wavering in her excitement.
‘Yes, with a reference to the zenith of the sun and an insignia of a crystal skull. And it looks like it’s in the Amazon Basin, but there’s something odd here. This map has precise latitude and longitude, yet I was sure the Inca didn’t use that system,’ said O’Connor.
‘Don’t sell them short,’ Aleta said, ‘they were superb astronomers. But this map doesn’t look Inca to me. Someone knows this location. That water ram moved very easily … I think it’s been used quite recently.’
‘I think you’re right,’ O’Connor agreed, ‘yet the tomb’s in perfect condition. Perhaps one or two shamans have access. Do you remember the one Gonzáles mentioned? Huayta?’
‘Yes. I suppose it’s possible,’ said Aleta. ‘As to the zenith,’ she mused, ‘Gonzáles was right. The Inca put great significance on solstices and equinoxes, just like the Maya, but this confirms what he meant by the zenith.’
‘The sun directly overhead,’ O’Connor agreed. ‘Which means we have less than a week, and if the details on the bottom of this map are correct, we’re going to need some help getting in there. It’s time we found Huayta.’
Chapter 49
‘It’s just Señor Huayta?’ O’Connor queried the receptionist on the other end of the line. Earlier that evening O’Connor and Aleta had found a small hotel in Cusco for the night, dropped their bags and gone out to eat. Back in their room, O’Connor had taken a call from reception to learn that Carlos Huayta was waiting to see them. He was more than a little puzzled as to how Huayta might have found them. ‘Okay, send him up.’ He turned to Aleta. ‘When he knocks, open the door and step aside. If it’s necessary, I want a clear shot.’
‘You think this is a trap?’
‘We’ll soon know.’ When it came, the knock was firm and confident, and Aleta opened the door and stepped back.
Carlos Huayta stood at the door, looking towards O’Connor, who was pointing his Glock 21 straight at him.
‘You are right to be cautious, Señor O’Connor, but you can put your weapon away. I’m unarmed. You can check if you wish.’
‘It seems there are quite a few who are not on our side – you’ll have to forgive the welcome,’ O’Connor said, deciding against patting the shaman down. ‘This is Dr Aleta Weizman.’
‘Ah yes, the world-renowned archaeolo gist. It’s a great pleasure, señora. And my congratulations on finding the first two crystal skulls. Despite your enemies, you’ve done better than anyone before you. May I see the skulls?’
‘How do you know we have them, and how did you find us here?’ O’Connor challenged.
‘Your enemies have not been the only ones tracking your movements, señor. As to the skulls, the art of the shaman is arcane. If you are —’
‘I know,’ O’Connor grunted, ‘if we’re meant to find the other skull we will. They might be flawlessly sculpted, but these skulls seem to attract bad luck like flies to cow dung.’
O’Connor nodded to Aleta. Time was not on their side, and Aleta recovered the skulls from the bottom of the wardrobe. ‘They’re not unlike the Mitchell-Hedges skull,’ she said, placing the skulls side by side and stepping back, invigorated. A strange energy seemed to emanate from each crystal.
‘Yes, they’re impressive to look at, but what’s critical is the information they contain,’ Huayta said. ‘So far, you’ve only discovered two thirds of the warning.’
‘So the message from the Mitchell-Hedges skull was accurate,’ ventured Aleta. ‘We need all three?’
Huayta nodded. ‘The puzzle was created long ago. These skulls predate even the Egyptian civilisation, and now that you have recovered two of them, you must turn your attention to recovering the last. Decoding the cipher was just the start.’
O’Connor and Aleta exchanged glances. The theme of a preordained mission seemed a consistent one amongst the Maya and Inca shamans.
‘We recovered a map earlier today that seems to indicate the location of the Lost City of Paititi,’ O’Connor said, deciding to trust the shaman. ‘But I don’t know if that’s where we’ll find the third skull. I’ve examined the satellite maps and it’s a pretty remote area of the Amazon,’ he continued.
‘Yes. Many explorers have disappeared looking for Paititi,’ Huayta said. ‘As recently as 1970, an American journalist, together with two Frenchmen, was murdered during an expedition to uncover Paititi.
But we should start where it all began. The Coricancha is only a short walk from here.’
‘Coricancha in Quechua means courtyard of gold,’ Huayta explained when they entered the Cathedral of Santo Domingo, built where the Coricancha had been. The Spanish had dismantled most of the Inca temple and used the stonework as the basis for the new church. ‘This was where the Inca held their most sacred object, a solid-gold disc inlaid with precious stones representing the sun.’ Huayta pointed to the holes in the beams above. ‘The disc was suspended from the roof before the temple was taken down.
‘The Inca covered the southern walls of the temple with solid gold, which reflected the rays of the sun and illuminated the temple, but when Pizarro sacked the capital in 1533, the Spaniards stripped the gold – about two tonnes of it, along with hundreds of gold statues and solid-gold ears of corn from an ornamental garden – and melted it down, shipping it back to Spain as ingots.’
‘So the stories of a fabulous hoard of gold in Paititi are just myths?’ Aleta suggested.
Huayta shook his head. ‘Far from it. When the Spaniards landed, the Inca took the Sun Disc, together with a large amount of gold, silver and jewels. Many fled into the jungle, where they built the city of Paititi. There’s a tunnel that runs from here, under the Plaza de Armas, and on to Sacsayhuaman, the ancient Inca fortress on the hill overlooking Cusco,’ Huayta explained. ‘Some have described Sacsayhuaman as a fortress, but there are deeper, spiritual meanings that we’re only just beginning to understand. The Inca capital of Cusco was laid out in the form of a puma, and Sacsayhuaman represents the head, and there’s little doubt the Inca used the tunnel as an escape route to Paititi.’
‘So it exists, this city?’ Aleta queried.
‘It exists,’ Huayta said, lowering his voice. ‘But as your map indicates, it’s in a fearfully inaccessible area.’
‘One thing puzzles me,’ O’Connor said. ‘You say you know where this lost city is, but why has nobody else managed to find it? And you’ve made no attempt to reveal it to the world. Why?’
‘Over the centuries, the Amazon jungle has taken over the site, much as the jungle took over the Maya pyramids, and Machu Picchu. As to revealing it, the wisdom of the ancients is entrusted to very few,’ Huayta replied, ‘and if I had produced the two skulls that remained in the Inca heartland, the Vatican would deny the existence of the third and the media would denounce the exercise as some sort of hoax. More importantly, the warning would be ignored. And no offence, Dr O’Connor, but it is far better that someone of Dr Weizman’s archaeological standing make the discovery, than you or I.’
‘I see you’ve done your background checks,’ O’Connor replied with a smile. ‘It’s been a long while since anyone addressed me as “Doctor”.’
‘An honours degree in chemistry from Trinity College Dublin and a doctorate on the effects of lethal viruses and biological weapons. You are right, Dr O’Connor, we have checked.’
O’Connor nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Then we’re going to need some local guides, supplies, and a means of transport,’ he said.
‘You’ll be able to get as far as Itahuania by vehicle, but the only way into the Amazon jungle is by foot,’ Huayta said, ‘unless you were to charter a helicopter. But helicopters are not the answer. No one has ever found a lost jungle ruin, let alone Paititi, from the air. Hiram Bingham found Machu Picchu only because he hacked his way through the undergrowth for many days. Other ruins like Gran Pajatén, Espiritu Pampa and Gran Vilaya, which have all been discovered in the last fifty years, were found by jungle explorers. But my people can organise what you need for the journey. They’re trustworthy, they know the area and they speak the language.’
O’Connor wondered about the leak from the convent; his guard well and truly up.
‘Are you coming with us?’ Aleta asked.
‘That will be a pleasure, although the recovery of the final skull will be up to you,’ said Huayta with an enigmatic smile. ‘Now it appears that the time is at last upon us, but the road ahead is extremely dangerous, and the zenith is six days away. Not only will you have to deal with jaguars, anacondas and the deadly fer-de-lance and shushupe snakes, but the Inca ensured the city itself would be fiercely protected … even after their civilisation collapsed.’
Aleta felt a shiver run down her spine.
The convoy of five battered Toyota Prada four-wheel drives, with the expedition’s gear piled high on the roof racks, rolled out of Cusco. Monsignor Jennings followed it at a distance, although he knew it wouldn’t be possible to tail it for long. Once the traffic thinned out, his car would become obvious, but in the old area of Cusco, the traffic was heavy, and the convoy was heading southwest past the airport on the Via Expresa. Twenty kilometres further on, at the small town of Andahuaylillias, the convoy turned west on to Route 26. On either side of the valley, the volcanic peaks of the Andes reached towards the clouds, but from here there were not many roads to choose from. A bare five kilometres further on, the convoy turned north, on the only road to Paucartambo. Satisfied he knew which direction they were heading, Jennings turned around and headed back to Cusco. Once he reached his lodgings, he sent a text to Cardinal Felici:
O’Connor and party headed west on only road to Paucartambo, which leads on to Shintuya and Itahuania. One of their number, disgruntled at being overlooked for training as a shaman, proved open to my suggestion, and is now equipped with satellite communications.
Later that night, Jennings showered and changed and caught his regular taxi down to his favourite nightclub in San Sebastian. The area was one of the roughest parts of town, and despite the Peruvian authorities’ best efforts, child prostitution thrived. Jennings ignored the waves from the bricheras, young Peruvian hookers on the make for a hundred sol or so, while his driver headed down a narrow dirt laneway and dropped him off at El Buceo.
‘Señor … bienvenido,’ the bouncer said as Jennings approached, pocketing the fifty sol and opening the flimsy wooden door. ‘Ricardo is waiting for you.’
Jennings stepped through the curtains and his pulse quickened. Strobe lights flashed on the paint peeling from the walls, and young men in singlets and tight jeans ground together to the music. The barman wiped the sweat from his brow, flipped a silver cocktail shaker and caught it expertly with one hand. He waved to Jennings and reached for a bottle of Scotch.
Chapter 50
Wiley strode into the Task Force Inca ops room, armed with the latest intelligence report from Cardinal Felici.
‘Get me Lima on the secure link,’ he ordered Becker. It didn’t take Megan long to get Jarhead on the screen. The chief of station looked as nervous as he had the last time.
‘Now listen up,’ Wiley said. ‘Tutankhamun and Nefertiti are headed for Itahuania, in the Amazon Basin. USS Harry S. Truman is working up off Chiclayo. Her call sign is Lone Warrior, and three Navy Sea Hawks carrying teams from our Special Operations Group are on board, Reyes. I’ll arrive in your location at 1600 hours tonight.’
‘You’re coming here … sir?’
‘I’m taking command of this clusterfuck, Reyes. There’s been too many fuck-ups on your watch, so from here on in, I’ll be on the bridge.’
Becker watched the exchange with keen interest, making a mental note to pass the information on to Lauren Crawford as soon as possible. Other than for top-secret briefings with his counterparts overseas, a DDO would never venture into the field, let alone take command. Yet Wiley had gone to Tikal in Guatemala when Rodriguez was chief of station, and now he was deploying again.
‘I’ll make sure the ambassador is briefed, sir.’
‘The fucking ambassador isn’t cleared into the Inca compartment, Reyes, so other than telling him I’ll be on his turf for a while, leave him out of it.’ Wiley turned to Becker. ‘Kill the feed,’ he ordered, and Reyes’ face immediately disappeared from the screen. ‘Tutankhamun doesn’t know it,’ he said, addressing the rest of the ops room, ‘but a member of his party is in radio contact.’ Wiley
handed Davis the details. ‘I want this call sign monitored twenty-four seven.’
Becker was again left wondering where Wiley was getting his intelligence, but she knew better than to ask. She still didn’t have the proof she needed.
Chapter 51
O’Connor checked more than once to see if they were being followed, but the road behind was clear. Driving the lead vehicle, with Aleta and Huayta and a local guide on board, he slowed as they rounded a corner. Ahead lay Paucartambo with its eucalypts and palm trees, its whitewashed buildings with terracotta roofs and brightly coloured wooden balconies. The cobblestone streets were narrow and the market place was crowded, and O’Connor had to stop for a herd of llama crossing an old stone bridge above a swiftly flowing river. Once through Paucartambo, they ground their way up a winding road that led into the mists and clouds of the mountains. The road deteriorated and O’Connor engaged the four-wheel drive more than once, and then permanently, as they crossed the smaller rivers that fed into the mighty Rio Alto Madre de Dios. Each time they crossed a river, they climbed into rainforest on the far side, only to descend into yet another misty ravine.
‘Good thing it’s not the wet season,’ O’Connor observed, as he kept the Toyota moving through water that skirted dangerously close to the tops of the tyres.
Huayta smiled knowingly. ‘It can still be done … but by raft and on foot.’
O’Connor gunned the Toyota out of another creek and into the jungle on the other side, where they moved more slowly. A troupe of howler monkeys swung from vine to vine, noisily alerting the other inhabitants of the danger approaching. Two yellow and blue macaws took flight and a hummingbird hovered over a beautiful purple cattleya orchid, wings beating at an astonishing 70 beats a second. They climbed steeply up a jungle-clad ridgeline, where they reached the village of Shintuya. Here the road turned south, heading deeper into rainforest; it was late afternoon by the time they reached the end of the vehicle track at Itahuania.
The Inca Prophecy Page 28