‘From here on, it’s jungle all the way,’ O’Connor said, stretching his legs. ‘We’ll camp by the river.’
While the guides set up camp and lit a fire to prepare dinner, O’Connor went for a walk. Outside a local bar, he noticed a shiny jeep. To his trained eye, the car didn’t fit. What, he wondered, would a brand-new jeep be doing in a frontier jungle village like Itahuania? Inside the bar, the locals were warming up. The Cusqueña beer was flowing freely and two men and a woman armed with panpipes and guitars were in full swing. O’Connor ordered an Inca Kola, and pretended to be listening to the music. His target, a dark-haired, wiry and fit-looking man, was sitting on his own in one of three old wooden booths.
‘We’ve got company again,’ O’Connor said to Aleta when he returned.
‘Fuck,’ Aleta said.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard her swear but it was rare. The constant attacks were clearly playing on her nerves. ‘Although this bloke’s not the sharpest spine on the porcupine. His new jeep sticks out like a sore thumb. He’s unlikely to make a move until much later tonight, but as a precaution, you’d better sleep in the Toyota.’
The guides retired for the night, but O’Connor knew Wiley’s thug would not be far away. He stood outside the flaps of his tent in the light of the fire, giving anyone watching ample time to identify his tent. He stretched, yawned and disappeared inside, closing the flaps behind him, before crawling out under the far side. Like a marine negotiating a low barbed-wire entanglement at boot camp, O’Connor used some fallen logs for cover and leopard-crawled towards the jungle at the edge of the clearing. He screwed the silencer onto his Glock 21 and waited.
It was close to midnight before Wiley’s asset made his move. O’Connor picked him up on the other side of the campsite: a dark figure moving slowly but purposefully along the jungle edge towards O’Connor’s tent. He caught the flash of the assassin’s knife blade in the moonlight. O’Connor waited until his quarry reached the flap then moved towards him, silently closing the gap. Confused by the empty tent, the assassin reappeared but O’Connor was still ten metres away. O’Connor saw the assassin release his knife and he swayed out of the arc. His assailant reached for his gun, but O’Connor fired and Wiley’s asset collapsed to the ground beside the tent.
The phut of the silenced Glock had sounded loud and out of place, but no one stirred in the camp. O’Connor went through the assassin’s pockets, but apart from a Ruger P94 pistol, they were empty. O’Connor slung the body over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and walked up the hill to where two big lumber trucks were parked, loaded with cedar and ready for the morning trip to Cusco. O’Connor crawled under one of the trucks and released the inner spare tyre. He heaved the body into the space, closed the securing bars, hauled the tyre from underneath the truck and rolled it behind the lumber sheds.
O’Connor shook Aleta gently, but she woke with a start, her nerves clearly on edge.
‘What?’
‘Easy. It’s okay. You looked very uncomfortable and we have a long way to go tomorrow … today. Your blow-up mattress awaits.’
‘He’s gone?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ O’Connor retrieved some tools from his kit in the back of the four-wheel drive and walked Aleta to the tent. ‘It’s safe now. Try to sleep. I’ll be back soon.’
The jeep was still outside the bar where the gunman had left it. A feral cat prowled the shadows, but there was no sign of any human presence. O’Connor put on his gloves and tapped a wooden wedge between the door pillar and the window. He inserted a small bag into the gap and quickly pumped it full of air. The gap was now large enough to work with; he inserted a plastic hook, latching it on to the door release. The break-in had taken less than thirty seconds. O’Connor rifled through the glove compartment, pocketing the gunman’s wallet and mobile before turning his attention to a large aluminium tool box in the back.
O’Connor cracked the lock and whistled softly. The box contained six Claymore mines, trip wires and flares, together with detonators, detonator wire and ‘clackers’, the plastic triggers that set off the blasting cap, detonating the mine. Claymores contained over 700 steel ball-bearings packed in front of C-4 plastic explosives, and they were deadly at up to 50 metres. The military had used them extensively in the Vietnam War, primarily in ambushes, but why, O’Connor wondered, would one of Wiley’s paid thugs have gone to the trouble of acquiring them? Unless … O’Connor grabbed a large backpack from the floor of the jeep, emptied it of its rations and other camping gear, and packed the mines, flares and trip wires inside. Two could play at this game, he thought, as he relocked the vehicle and headed back to camp.
‘How do you want to play the order of march?’ Huayta asked, after O’Connor had briefed him on the night’s activities.
‘Which of the guides knows the area best?’
Huayta turned and called one of the guides. ‘Renzo’s ancestors are from the Machiguengan people,’ said Huayta, introducing the short, stocky young man. O’Connor judged Renzo to be in his mid-twenties, but the man looked older. His right shoulder bore the scars of a battle with a jaguar and he was missing two of his front teeth.
‘¿Usted busca Paititi? You are looking for Paititi?’ It was an observation, not a question, delivered with a grin.
‘You think we can find it?’ asked O’Connor.
Renzo shrugged. ‘Many have tried before,’ he said, ‘but we will do our best for you.’
‘Can’t ask more than that,’ O’Connor replied. ‘Renzo here can lead,’ he said, turning to Huayta, ‘and I’ll follow immediately behind. You and Aleta can travel in the middle of the column, and we’ll need someone reliable as “tail-end Charlie”.’
‘Tail-end Charlie?’
‘The person who brings up the rear has to make sure that we’re not being followed. We’ve probably bought some time by taking out the latest asset, but it won’t be long before Wiley has another crack,’ O’Connor said, shouldering his pack.
Huayta turned to his men. Juan Carlos, an older man, volunteered for tail-end Charlie and dropped to the rear of the column.
O’Connor calibrated his GPS compass. The base map for this part of the world wasn’t particularly detailed and the local guides would be far better than any electronic input; but the altimeter was on line and the satellite provided accuracy on position down to less than a metre. Happy with the calibration, O’Connor adjusted the geocaching pointer, a thick red arrow that pointed to the coordinates revealed in the document they’d found inside the Inca tomb. The secondary pointer would, he knew, indicate whenever they veered from the required compass bearing, and in this terrain, that would happen often.
‘We’ll be able to follow a jungle path for the first few days,’ Huayta advised, ‘but after that, it will be up to you.’
They moved off in single file, into the half-light of the dense Amazon rainforest. Soft underfoot, the decaying carpet of leaves emitted a musty smell that rose through the foliage. Massive ceiba trees protruded above the rest of the canopy, the spaces between their buttressed roots wide enough to fit a small car. Fig trees and brazil-nut trees supported myriad vines, alongside huge mahogany and cedar trees, chicle and balsa. Lower down, palms, ferns, mosses and orchids competed for space. Above them, a band of spider monkeys swung from vine to vine. A flock of green and red mitred parakeets chattered noisily, and a toucan with its distinctive red, black and yellow beak poked its head out of a tree hollow. And high above, unseen by O’Connor and his team, a huge condor soared on the thermals.
Chapter 52
With the zenith now less than twenty-four hours away, the jungle seemed almost impassable. Using machetes, Renzo and O’Connor hacked their way through the thick undergrowth to an ancient jungle track on top of a ridgeline leading towards a distant mist-shrouded mountain. O’Connor stopped to listen. It was faint, but the sound of the Iroquois helicopter was unmistakable. Then he saw it. From the vantage point of the ridge, O’Connor focused his bino
culars on the black dot far below, moving just above the canopy. It kept coming, and then disappeared into a small ravine. Suddenly there was a change in the rotor noise.
‘What is a helicopter doing way out here in the wilderness?’ Aleta asked, her face flushed, her sweat-soaked khaki shirt clinging to her breasts.
‘One guess,’ said O’Connor. ‘But what’s puzzling me,’ he said, turning to Huayta, ‘is that Wiley seems to be second-guessing our every move. Are all the guides here?’
‘All except Juan Carlos … he dropped back to go to the toilet. And now that I think of it,’ Huayta added, a cold understanding dawning, ‘he did that yesterday and the day before.’
O’Connor’s face changed. On a jungle patrol you never dropped back. ‘Well, we’ll deal with him later. In the meantime, it sounds like Wiley’s assets have found a clearing and landed … I’d say about a kilometre away, between us and the mountain ahead. I’m betting the track we’re on will link up with the clearing.’
‘How many will there be, do you think?’
‘An Iroquois can hold ten troops, so we’re going to be outnumbered, and Wiley’s thugs will have orders to shoot on sight. But even though they know where we are, they won’t be certain we’ve heard them land, and we can use that to our advantage. Set up camp here, while I do a reconnaissance.’
Five hundred metres further up the ridgeline, O’Connor found the piece of ground he was looking for. The jungle track wound through a shallow gorge, dominated by an outcrop above.
‘Have any of your men ever fired a weapon?’ O’Connor asked Huayta when he returned.
Huayta shook his head. ‘But I have.’
‘It will be dark in another half an hour, so we need to move quickly. The assets will be headed in this direction and I want to give them the impression we think we’re alone. Light a fire, and get some music on the radio.’
O’Connor led Aleta and Huayta to the ambush site, where he laid out the six Claymore mines in the undergrowth on the high side of the track. Once they were in place, he ran the cords back to the position he’d chosen for himself, overlooking the centre of the area. Still preferring his Glock, he gave Huayta the Uzi and positioned the shaman above the jungle path, just past the last mine and closest to the camp. The spot was hidden by an outcrop of ferns and O’Connor ensured Huayta had a clear view of the track. He would be firing along it, instead of across it.
‘The military call it enfilade fire,’ O’Connor said quietly. ‘I’ll set up a trip flare just in front of you, which will give you the light you need when the lead thug hits the trip wire. I’ll blow the mines and I want you to empty a whole magazine down the track, but keep your fire to the right of that big brazil-nut tree, otherwise you’ll hit Aleta. If anyone is still firing back, we’ll take them out individually. Tie this to your wrist,’ he said, handing Huayta the end of a thin, dark-green cord. ‘Two tugs on the communication cord means the assets are approaching.’
O’Connor walked quickly back to where he’d left Aleta in her position overlooking the other bend in the track.
‘Huayta’s at the far end, in amongst those ferns, so keep your aim to the left and on the track. There’s a trip flare near Huayta, and unless the assets are strung out, by the time they walk into the trip flare, they should all be in the killing ground. You’ll get a clear field of fire. There’s a command-detonated flare just in front of you that will ignite at the same time as the mines blow. You okay?’
Aleta nodded, her heart already racing. ‘This may come as a surprise to you, but this is not what I do for a living.’
O’Connor nodded, aware of the enormity of the responsibility he had placed on her. ‘Pull this cord twice when you hear them approaching. We’ll make a Navy Seal of you yet!’
Aleta shook her head, but she was determined not to fail.
O’Connor checked Aleta’s and Huayta’s positions to ensure they couldn’t be seen from the track. Satisfied, he set up the trip flare, placed the detonators in the Claymores, took up his own position and settled down to wait. The faint sounds from the radio at the campsite wafted through the cool jungle air. Skilled in close-quarter urban guerrilla tactics and jungle warfare, O’Connor had been trained to use his five senses, and even at this distance he could detect the faint smell of smoke from the campfire. Wiley’s gorillas, he hoped, would not suspect anything this far from the camp. Suddenly there was a movement behind him. The rustling sound was close, and O’Connor switched on his red-filter torch and slowly got to his feet.
Even in the soft filtered light, he immediately recognised the snake. The head was broad and the scales rough. Black triangular blotches ran the length of its thick, brown body. O’Connor judged it to be over three metres long, and he knew that a bite would be fatal. The largest pit viper in the world, a South American bushmaster, had chosen this moment to go hunting. Its long fangs were like hypodermic needles, injecting into its victims copious quantities of venom that destroyed red blood cells, causing haemorrhaging and, ultimately, the destruction of the body’s organs. O’Connor took a deep breath. He decided against using his silencer, and stamped his foot. Snakes, he knew, were deaf, but most avoided contact with humans and would move away from ground vibrations. O’Connor watched the snake slide down on to the track as he felt two tugs on Aleta’s communication cord. He cursed the timing of the reptile before giving the cord to Huayta two sharp pulls. There was movement further down the path, and the occasional swish of a machete blade. Wiley’s assets were approaching and the snake had stopped in the middle of the track, threatening to force the assassination team off the path and expose the presence of the Claymore mines before the flare was tripped.
Aleta willed herself to stay calm. She quietly eased the Socimi’s safety catch off and waited, her heart pounding. First one shadowy figure, then another passed her position. They were so close she could almost lean out and touch them. Aleta felt sure she could be seen, but reminded herself that O’Connor knew what he was doing.
Wiley’s men passed silently in front of O’Connor’s position. The deadly snake had slithered into the undergrowth and the assassins were moving easily on the jungle track, two metres apart, each carrying an M4A1 carbine used by the Special Operations Group. O’Connor counted seven men when the leader hit the trip-flare wire, which detonated in a flash of light. O’Connor pressed the Claymore triggers and the mines exploded with a deafening roar. From either end of the ambush, Huayta and Aleta opened fire, each emptying a full magazine. When the shooting stopped one gunman moaned and moved amongst the carnage on the path, and O’Connor fired. An eerie silence descended on the jungle, only to be shattered by a burst of fire from further down the track. Aleta screamed and fell back into the foliage. One of the gunmen had been trailing behind and was short of the killing ground when the mines exploded. The man fired again at Aleta, orange flashes giving away his position. O’Connor steadied his arm and fired back, and the jungle fell quiet.
O’Connor ran down the track to Aleta. ‘Where are you hit?’ he asked when he reached her. She was lying on the ground, her face pale, blood streaked across her forearm.
‘I’m okay. It just grazed my wrist,’ she said, smiling wanly.
‘Stay down,’ he said, after he’d inspected the wound. ‘We’ll dress that in a moment. I need to be sure no one else is lurking around out there.’
O’Connor worked his way stealthily past the body of the last gunman, checking for any movement, but the track was clear. By the time he returned, Huayta was moving the bodies off the track.
‘No point in burying them,’ O’Connor said, as they checked pockets and collected the weapons and ammunition. ‘They’ll be dug up and eaten anyway.’
‘Just one wallet. The rest are clean,’ said Huayta.
‘There’s always one who breaks the rules. He might give us a lead on the rest, though.’
O’Connor bandaged Aleta’s wrist and they gathered up the weapons and ammunition and headed back towards the camp. Not wishing
to be mistaken for one of Wiley’s men, O’Connor stopped about a hundred metres away, allowing Huayta to call reassuringly in Quechua. When they got back, Juan Carlos had still not reappeared.
‘The track on this ridgeline hasn’t been used for a very long time, but the traces are still there to follow. Compared to some of the jungle we’ve had to hack our way through, it won’t be so bad,’ O’Connor observed as they prepared to break camp early. They had less than half a day before the sun would reach its zenith.
‘Your observations are accurate,’ Huayta replied. ‘Occasionally, a shaman may have used this track, but it hasn’t seen any significant traffic for centuries.’
‘Are we getting close?’ Aleta asked, shouldering her pack and looking towards the mountain in the distance. The jungle-clad peak was shrouded in mists.
O’Connor consulted his compass. ‘If the coordinates in the cipher are right, we have less than 20 kilometres to go,’ he said, picking up one of the carbines they’d captured the night before.
‘What about the rest of Wiley’s thugs?’
‘We can only assume they’re still with the helicopter. We eliminated eight men last night, but that leaves a possible two still out there. This morning, I’ll lead.’ O’Connor called over the young boy Huayta had assigned as the new tail-end Charlie. ‘Keep a sharp eye to the rear, Fernando. Juan Carlos may not be far behind.’
O’Connor headed out. They passed the ambush position where the trees and foliage were scarred from the Claymore explosions and the submachine-gun fire. The area where they’d moved the bodies had already been disturbed, and O’Connor knew it wouldn’t be long before only the bones remained. He stuck to the path along the ridgeline and they climbed steadily, breasting one false crest after another. Despite the mists, he was sweating profusely. The path dropped sharply towards a hidden valley, and O’Connor led the way down.
The Inca Prophecy Page 29