The Inca Temple

by Preston W Child

  "The gold is mine!" Pietro snapped.

  "Shut up, Pietro. You didn't even know it was there until the American came."

  No one had ever told Pietro to shut up; no one dared. This insect had just said it. All his guards did was fidget and waited for Pietro's order. None came. Pietro Oscar was stunned by the truth in what the man said because, in the final analysis, Pietro was a man who valued honesty. The truth had kept him alive for this long in the crime world. There was always a man who would bluff his way around town. There was still another who'd dare stare death in the eyes. This short idiot before him has done this business many times. He peddled in answers, not questions.

  "What's your answer?" Pietro asked Kowalski.

  "Good, now listen to me carefully."

  —

  A storm was coming—not just from the sky, but also from mountains. These thoughts ate Reno up. His gold was gone, he was sure. It wasn't his anymore. It never was because he had taken it from the dead—his friend Uzo, and the American.

  The gold was going to bring a lot of people early death. Reno told himself he was not going to be a party to it anymore, so he packed a small bag and decided to skip town.

  Leno came around to see him. He wanted to apologize for his treachery.

  "There's nothing to forgive," he had told Leno. "We are both in trouble."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "It's the dead's gold, the blood of Uzo is on it. I'm leaving."

  "Where do you want to go? How about the shop?"

  "Fuck the shop! And fuck you too!"

  Leno had turned to a morose wreck after this. He left as Reno put the last piece of cloth in his travel bag. Reno wrote a small note and pinned it on the refrigerator for his mother to find.

  He would wait until darkness fell before leaving.

  —

  Olivia called Rodriguez's name after ringing the bell four times. She went into the back of the antique store, looked up the steps, and then through an open door where a TV was on. There was a table there with a half glass of milk. A soccer channel was showing a live match on TV.

  "Rodriguez?"

  She saw that the chair had been toppled. She went up the staircase. The chaos she saw in the room where Tami found her gold discouraged her, and she went back down.

  She stood in the street and looked up and down. The street looked calm. Olivia noticed nothing on the faces of the men seated under the awning opposite the shop. There was no knowing if there was any commotion earlier. She, however, caught furtive looks from up the building. Olivia crossed the road. The sun beat down on her.

  She pulled her hair in a ponytail and tied it with a band from her bag. She caught a reflection of herself in the glass door as she went up the steps.

  There was a barbershop there, and a boy was standing there, idling. He had a pinched nose and deep blue eyes. His t-shirt had a red and yellow target drawn on it.

  "Did you see the old man in the antique shop leave?"

  "Yes."

  "When was that?"

  "An hour."

  "Was he alone?"

  "No, he wasn't."

  Olivia looked at the boy, waiting for more, but the boy clammed up. "Who was he with?"

  He shrugged. Blue eyes blinked indifferently; Olivia gave up and went back to the hotel.

  —

  Reno was on his way out of town, walking through back alleys and side streets. He thought of going by the auto shop to see what was going on. Perhaps, to see if the shop opened at all. But he didn't. The fewer people that knew his plans, the better for him.

  He took a street road that was a short cut to the train station. It was also a cut that went by the auto shop. He was so close. Reno stood in the middle of the road. A lonely moon coasted over dark clouds, sometimes going in and out of them.

  He decided to go check on the shop.

  He came in through the back, listening as he went to the voices in the shop. One of them sounded like Leno and another voice.

  And the conversation went this way:

  "There's so much gold up there that the Americans are coming in."

  "Yeah, I heard about the American woman and her friends."

  "A woman? Get out!"

  "I'm serious, man. They are at the Beetle Hotel."

  "You know Pietro wants the gold, too, right?"

  "So what?"

  "It's going to be a war."

  "Let's bet on them."

  "There's no need for that. The Americans will get it. Pietro's a pussy."

  "Yeah, he's a real pussy."

  Reno didn't wait to hear more. He'd heard enough. Damn, there was still a way for him to get some of the gold, and probably get even with Pietro for stealing his gold. And Leno, of course.

  He changed course. Not the rail station.

  A new course was set for the Beetle Hotel.

  —

  "It's tonight or never," she said as she entered the men's room. "The old man is gone, he's disappeared."

  "Oh shit," someone said.

  Miller pulled the bag of supplies into the middle of the room. "Here, I got everything we'll need. Axes to dig, torchlights, batteries, hammers, the works."

  The men gathered around the bag, examining the content. Diggs said, "You don't have everything, man. How about guns?"

  "Yeah," said Liam, "and how about tents?"

  Miller smiled. "Guys, it's supposed to be an in-and-out operation—"

  "It wasn't in and out for Patrick Coleman. They think he's dead," Olivia said. "But if we leave tonight, we just might get back in time to help Tami out of there."

  "We need a guide," Anabia said suddenly. "We didn't think about that. We need someone who's been there, and the only person was Patrick Coleman."

  "No, he's not. He had local help," replied Olivia. "We could recruit new guys, one or two."

  Tami would have helped the team with that.

  It occurred to Olivia that the police station may be the safest place for Tami Capaldi for when the dangers she suspected would come.

  There was a knock at the door, and they all froze.

  —

  Detective José Hanna had been watching everything going from the sidelines. He was there in the barbershop the first time Olivia came by the antique shop to chat with the old man.

  He had waited for hours, hanging around the street there. He had dined on stick after stick of rachi and several bottles of Pepsi, waiting for what would come of the little visit from the American lady. He knew, of course, that her visit had been on account of the woman, Tami Capaldi.

  Tami was a stubborn one.

  And when the police from his own division showed up later, José was only surprised it took them more than thirty minutes. He suspected that the old man was in some warehouse now, cooling it off with a bottle of beer and TV. Old Roddy loved watching TV, and drinking something—anything—while at it.

  Detective José's investigation was now significantly altered. It had gone from searching for the American professor to protecting others from the consequences of the American's disappearance.

  Tami Capaldi, especially.

  —

  There was no eyehole in the door. What shitty sort of door didn't have an eyehole in it anyway?

  Diggs cocked his gun. He placed the muzzle on the door where a man of average height would get blown if they weren't the right type of people.

  "Who's there?" Diggs asked.

  The knock again.

  He looked at the team. Each one had his gun ready. He put a finger to his lips and said whispered, "Shush."

  He pulled the door open. There was a young lad there with a shy smile, a bag, and a nasty scar on his face.

  "Hello."

  "What do you want?" Diggs inquired.

  "You will need an escort to go to Machu Picchu, the place of gold."

  Olivia grinned.

  —

  7

  Machu Picchu

  Ambient light lit the way up the trail. Heavy cl
ouds seemed even closer to the ground at the altitude around the hill, yet it was not as hot in town. Fresh air rose to meet them from the east. Apachia looked like a collection of stars in the distance.

  The team follows the young lad, Reno. He was their leader, and they were the pilgrims. Thunderclaps flashed every ten minutes or so. From the top of the mountain, Olivia saw that eyes in the town could not have seen those flashes. Storms would come in without notice.

  The trail zigzagged around the hill once more after going straight up. They came to the ruins of the ancient city. Olivia recognized it from photos Mary Luca had sent her. Most of the city was now covered in earth and vegetation.

  Reno looked at Olivia. "We go further."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  Reno's voice inspired little confidence. The lad was clearly scared. The air felt so cool and tasted so sweet that Olivia was unable to comprehend the lad's fright. Olivia caught up with him; shoulder to shoulder, they walked. When he glanced at her, Olivia favored him with a sweet little smile.

  "You are a stunning woman."

  She gasped. "Oh, dear."

  It was a long time since she received such an open and bold compliment from a young man, any man. And even longer since someone looked at her longingly. Reno had eaten her up with his dark eyes when he first saw her in the hotel earlier. The boy had stared so long and so hungrily, Olivia had blushed.

  "How old are you?"

  He laughed, clearly relieved by the banter. Whatever was the source of his dread, Olivia's voice quelled it.

  "Old enough."

  Olivia smiled broadly. She shook her head. The boy was undoubtedly coming on to her. She estimated his age around twenty-three. Olivia would be twenty-eight in three months. But she liked the feeling of being gawked at innocently, of being wanted passionately.

  She surprised herself by pursuing the line.

  "You have a girlfriend?"

  "No, ma'am."

  Ma'am? Come on.

  "You should have a girlfriend. You are okay."

  "No, not with this," he gestured at the scar on his face.

  "The scar makes you cute, you know."

  "Really?" He glanced at her, smiling gleefully.

  "Yes."

  "I like you a lot."

  "Oh no, I'm too old for you."

  They both laughed. Olivia felt sexy. Olivia, you need to get laid.

  The boy stopped walking when they rounded another round of fallen walls. He pointed at a spot in the open field in front of them. The place was dark, like a deep shadow.

  "There," he whispered. "That's where you go in, with rope."

  The others caught up. They encircled Olivia and the boy. Liam dropped the bag of tools. Diggs began setting the lights. Olivia asked Reno, "Are you coming with us?"

  His voice shook. "I don't know. I don't want to…"

  "What happened down there the last time?"

  "I think they died."

  "Your friend and the professor?"

  He looked at Olivia and nodded slowly. Olivia touched his hand; it was warm. And strong.

  "You don't know for sure. They could still be alive. "

  He sighed.

  "Kid’s freaking out, Olivia. If he wants to stay, let him," Liam called from the mouth of the hole. He was looking down it.

  Diggs threw a rope ladder down the hole. The ladder was fitted with miniature lightbulbs so that it illuminated the way down.

  "It's going to be easier now, come on." Olivia took Reno's hand.

  She would be utterly wrong.

  —

  Andrew Gilmore was saved by a fishing boat crew that had seen the airplane go into the water. Minutes after, he was wrapped in a big cloak that smelled terribly to keep warm and was sipping from a hot brew that tasted like urine.

  "Good for cold," the bearded sailor said.

  They asked to go see if there were more survivors in the airplane. He shook his head and told them he was alone on the plane. They could definitely see he wasn't a pilot. But they let him be when he told them he used to be a priest, and that he needed to get back to Rome.

  "Rome is far away. This is the edge of Sicily."

  "Just point me in the right direction. I'll find my way."

  The fisherman waved him goodbye two hours later. Andrew walked on foot for hours until a truck loaded with hay came roaring along the dirt road. He joined the driver and his wife for another hour or so. The couple was not big on small talk; the wife stared at his face all the time.

  In a small town where the farmers dropped him off, he found a small church by a brook. The vicar was sitting in a chair by the open doors reading from a cookbook. His free hand crept into the fold of his robe when he saw Andrew coming down the path. Swans floated on the glassy surface of the brook. Birds cried in the trees of the small cemetery by the church. The small sign at the small gate called the building, in block letters, ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.

  Andrew told the man what happened to him over a cup of some local brew. The church had run out of coffee. He didn't mention the complicity of a former cardinal, though, or that his flight originated from the Vatican. Better to keep the dirty lining on the line.

  The vicar was Father Giuseppe, French by birth, Italian by nationality. Soft-spoken but ready. Andrew caught a glimpse of the Lupo underneath his robe when he collected his key to lock the church doors.

  They walked up the path Andrew came through but broke left through a field of potatoes.

  "We have more potatoes here than fruits of mercy," said the vicar.

  "Potatoes are delicious."

  "Do you have gangs where you are from?"

  "We do."

  "I still have nightmares. The folks here trust their guns more than they do the Lord."

  "I don't blame them," Andrew reflected, with some bitterness.

  Coils of potato branches crisscrossed the path. They jumped over them as they went by. Women in the field waved at the vicar. He blessed them with the Lord's grace. They came into a small street with a single road going through; the walk ended in front of a cottage.

  "This is where I live."

  He pointed at a rusting blue Volkswagen Beetle. It was missing it's back bumper. The windscreen was cracked. But it looked like it won't fall apart on the road.

  "It moves slow, but it moves," said Father Giuseppe. "And isn't that what's important?"

  "Moving?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes, Father, I thank you very much."

  "There's a train station in the next town, a mile from here due north. You'll find some money in the glove box. I keep it there for when I'm caught with my jocks down. Like now, this accident of yours, that's a situation with your jocks down."

  Andrew smiled inwardly. He looked at the man and his provincial hand gestures, very Sicilian. He would make a good friend and a formidable ally.

  "Father Giuseppe, I will never forget this."

  He waved that hand again and grinned. "You forget that. Just leave the car right at the station. I'll return for it when I can. Be safe."

  Andrew nodded and drove off.

  —

  Olivia pulled a map and spread it under the very bright light of a lamp Lawrence Diggs had set up. It was a map Mary Luca had faxed over after calling that she changed her mind about coming with the crew to Peru.

  It was hand-drawn with pencil but as comprehensive as someone's imagined dream of a lost civilization.

  "Where did you get this?" Reno asked her.

  "You recognize it?"

  It looked like the map of a maze. There were a total of eight rings. Each ring was broken by a gap—a doorway, presumably, Mary had suggested—precisely like most circular mazes. The last ring in the middle had only one gap in it. It was on the other side of the circle, far away from the gap in the circle before it.

  "Yes," Reno said. He pointed at a point in the first circle, the largest one. "We are here."

  Liam whistled. "Damn, that's so far out. That's like t
hree miles away."

  The young lad glanced at Liam. "But it was shorter the other time. We get there earlier because the American knows a shortcut."

  "You said you stopped following?" Olivia asked.

  "Yes, but I hear them breaking a wall. I hear it like I hear you now. So close."

  Anabia suggested it may have been the engineering. Miller agreed. "I read these ancients built echo chambers in the walls to deceive intruders. That means an intruder could roam for weeks and never find the treasure."

  Olivia said, "It makes sense."

  Dr. Anabia crouched by the map. He adjusted his glasses and looked harder at the map. He lined the map so he could see it better.

  "There's got to be a system to the construction—"

  "Shit, are you saying we are standing in a temple right now?" Liam cried.

  Anabia went on. "Look, here, if we could measure the distance from each doorway—gap—to the other, we may be able to know from our present location, which way to go every time we hit the next ring in the maze."

  Olivia's heart skipped a beat at the word “maze.” It called up the tedium of uncertainty in her mind, the darkness beyond the circle of light cast by the lamps suddenly assumed a face, the mask of the grim reaping nemesis waiting out there.

  Anabia was talking, his lips moved, but Olivia barely heard him. She was looking into the eyes of Reno, the handsome face split in two by a scar. She wondered what the boy saw on the map. Did he see his friend or Coleman? Or perhaps the demon he claimed was prowling the buried city?

  "I need a measuring tape," she heard Anabia say.

  Someone said, "We don't have a tape."

  "Use a rope."

  They looked at the corner where the light ended, and darkness began, Diggs was standing there with twine. He came forward and gave it to Anabia.

  "But how would we know the exact measurement?" Liam complained.

  Anabia examined the twine. He asked Diggs where he got it from. Diggs pointed at his boots. The left shoe was opened where the ropes had tied it.

  "You know how long a shoestring is?"

  "Timberland boot strings are 24 inches long," Diggs said.