The Inca Temple

by Preston W Child

"There they are." Pietro shouted. "Get them!"

  Olivia cocked her gun.

  —

  The offices were almost empty. Cops were out in the parking lot smoking or out on self-imposed patrol—everyone was only trying to get away from the heat in the offices.

  Jose's office had an air-conditioning system that worked when it wanted. Sometimes he'd climb on his chair and beat the box back to life. At other times the box just came awake on some afternoons and saved the detective from the insane hot spell.

  He had locked himself in his office to await the best time to go in the holding cells to check on Rodriguez. His clothes had stuck on his body entirely by the time he decided to leave. He was stepping out of the office when the AC rumbled, reporting for duty.

  José cursed it. "Fuck you, AC."

  Rodriguez was sweating in his cell too. José felt pity for the man. The corrupt system had no empathy for old men also.

  "How're you doing there, Pops?"

  The old man rose and wiped his sweaty hands on the seat of his threadbare corduroy pants.

  "I'm not here to break you out." José showed him a cigarette from his pack; the man shook his head. The detective shrugged and lit one for himself.

  "I didn't tell the American woman anything. She just wants to help Tami—"

  "I know, Roddy. I'm here for something else."

  "What is it?"

  "Can you read old Inca writings?"

  "It depends…"

  "On what?"

  Rodriguez grabbed the metal gate. Hoary eyes stared through bars. "You want to go to Machu Picchu? You want the treasures? Don't. There is only death awaiting. No one goes in comes out alive—with the gold."

  "You leave the gold to me."

  Rodriguez grabbed harder at the bars. He shook them. "When do you want to go there?"

  "When the time is right."

  —

  "I want them alive," said Pietro Oscar.

  Olivia counted almost ten men with guns in the erratic glare of the lamps. They could be more. She wasn't sure since the shadows were as solid as the actual figures.

  She felt movement under her feet as they walked past the area on the floor where those holes were. It was imperceptible at first, but when she took her next step backward, she could have sworn she felt a click in the ground, like the sound a lock mechanism made when the key fits into it.

  Diggs heard it too.

  He looked around. Now the sound came again, more audible this time and coming from both sides of the wall. Miller asked, "What was that? Did anyone hear that?"

  Anabia looked around wildly.

  "Oh no, that's the sound of trouble. We need to get off the place. Come on, get off!" he wailed.

  "Get off to where?!" Olivia yelled.

  She was freaking out. The clicking sound kept on, insistent and urgent. The holes spread for half a meter more and stopped. They both went up to the roof and down on the floor. It occurred to Olivia that even though the holes were haphazardly arranged on the floor, there seemed to be an alignment between the two sets.

  "Guys, stop!" she commanded. "It's a trap. The holes, they are traps!"

  Anabia whispered in awe, "She's right…"

  Bearing on the team were a dozen men with AKs pointing forward and several torches. The clicking sound continued, louder, and harder. There was a final pop on the floor and roof. It was utterly synchronized that if Olivia hadn't been listening for it. Somehow, it made sense that there would be a crowning sound. Olivia would have missed it, thinking it to be just one clap.

  What followed was mathematical in its precision, yet, even Dr. Anabia Nassif would have a hard time catching its significance, until much later.

  Four men stepped on the area of holes first. When they did, there was another sound, not a click like before. (It was deeper, a short boom, like a bomb going off underwater, and in time, it would be Olivia's theory that the concrete of holes sat on a buffer of water.)

  As more men marched on that part of the floor, brandishing their guns and clubs, the was another boom on the floor.

  Then they witnessed the first horror of the Inca temple.

  The holes in the floor popped open in sharp exhalations of antique dust and death, metal spears, blackened by time, sharpened to needlepoint at the ends shot from the holes—both from below and from the top.

  A total of eleven men were impaled instantly.

  A few guns managed to go off. Bodies jerked, half screams from bodies whose mouths escaped the lancing, puddles of blood quickly collected on the floor and spread out. People on both sides of the death spot watched, spellbound by the slaughter before them.

  Pietro's surviving thugs stumbled away from the spears from hell. They called on their gods, on demons they knew. The rumbles in the floor resumed. The clicking returned.

  The thugs started running back the way they came. Pietro screamed, "Come back here, the Americans are just tricky! It's a trick! Come back!"

  He pulled his gun and fired into the roof. Showers of spotted black dust and stones rained on him. The pandemonium continued, and he shot the nearest guy to him in the head. The man fell forward and convulsed. Blood gushed from the hole in his head, staining his grey pants and leather shoes, which made him madder.

  He pointed his gun at the remaining boys.

  "Now listen, fools! I'll do worse to you if you leave without my permission! We are going through the spears and getting those American idiots! I won't let them steal my gold, you hear me!"

  Terror-stricken eyes stared back with sheep-like allegiance.

  "Alright?"

  "Yes, sir!" they choired.

  "Good. Now earn yourselves an ounce of gold each." The man turned to the barricade of death in the middle of the corridor. "And let's get the motherfuckers who did this to our brothers!"

  The boys screamed their angered agreement.

  They approached the spears with the bodies on them.

  The clicking continued.

  Olivia asked Anabia Nassif what he thought was happening.

  "I'm not sure, but I know we should run now. They are coming through."

  Four brave thugs were already wriggling through the space between the erect bodies, blood, guts, and all.

  "They will kill us all! They will kill us! They are mad," Reno whined.

  The clicking stopped suddenly. The metal spears popped back into their holes with a clang; the impaled bodies dropped. Thugs who were trying to get through fell under the heap. The other thugs jumped back in fear again. Even Pietro let out a small scream.

  "Wait," he ordered.

  It dawned on him now that the Americans didn't set the trap. The temple killed his men—not Olivia—and her team.

  He took tentative steps toward the bodies on the floor. Blood dripped from the roof. A piece of brain matter stuck in one of the holes in the roof; it dangled sickly like a tongue. Pietro shined his torch on the roof.

  When he shined his torch down the hallway, it was empty. Olivia and his people were gone.

  His thugs wanted to charge.

  "No, don't."

  "But they are escaping, boss," the leader of the thugs said.

  "They are trapped, and not going anywhere, fool."

  "Then let's get them, boss!"

  "Not yet. We need to understand."

  The thugs gawped naively.

  —

  They turned the corner; the noise of the thugs fell away as they hurried on. Anabia led the search for the next doorway. Olivia and Reno pointed the torches at the walls as they tramped on. Diggs, Liam, and Frank brushed their hands over the surfaces, searching for the slightest inclines.

  They had gone more than eleven meters—more than the last time, Olivia noted—when Liam stopped and was bumped into by Frank.

  "I found a hole! I found a hole!"

  They crowded around him. The niche was almost covered up completely by dry algae. Brown dust puffed off as Anabia scratched it with a small knife provided by Diggs. When he had
finished scraping the surface clean, there was a small incline there, like the last two back the way they came.

  "Someone go left. I'll go right. Let's find the next one," Anabia suggested.

  Anabia found the second one, which placed the door approximately eleven meters from the position of the last one. Olivia looked back at the dark hallway, surprised at the silence. Pietro and his boys aren't following. Why?

  "Now let's try it," Anabia's voice said. "On my count—"

  The two men—Diggs and Anabia—were sweating. Their shirts had darkened and were dirty. So were the others, but Olivia couldn't see because the lights were on the two men.

  "One, two, three, go!"

  The two men grunted and pressed the block in the hole: nothing.

  Olivia's heart stopped. Oh God, we're never gonna make it. Pietro and his goons are going to meet me and the team there and slaughter us all.

  Anabia and Diggs tried again. Still nothing. The blocks didn't even bulge. Anabia let go while Diggs continued in his desperate attempt, teeth gnashed, his biceps pumped as he punched the block.

  Olivia touched the man's shoulder.

  "It's alright, Diggs."

  "It's not working. I don't understand why," Anabia murmured.

  Olivia looked around. There has to be another way; her mind was a cyclone of thoughts. She listened again, hoping to hear Pietro's men. Their absence caused more confusion.

  Then it occurred to her: a trap is sprung when the snare is triggered.

  "Where is the trap?" she said as she walked away, torchlight spread ahead of her. "We need to find the trap here. Every next level hides a trap."

  Anabia followed after her. "Are you saying the doors have something to do with the traps?"

  "That's what I'm saying, the traps are connected to the doors."

  "But the last one was opened before the trap killed those people."

  "Yes, that's the point." Olivia stopped to face Anabia. "That's exactly what I'm trying to say. Why is the door not opening? It must be the traps!"

  Olivia was stomping around the floor, walking away, running her torchlight around. She was scraping her shoes on the ground too.

  "You are not making sense, Olivia—"

  Olivia grabbed Anabia's hand. "Think about it. This is a temple, right?"

  "Uhuh."

  "Why did the door not open? Blood, that's why. Blood. There's got to be some sacrifice. These people knew what they were doing. Blood must be spilled."

  "So you're saying one of us has to die?"

  "No one has to die—"

  "Then what the hell are you talking about?"

  "I'm saying the trap has to go off. I think if it goes off, then the door will open."

  Anabia groaned. He turned back to the others. Liam shrugged at him and smiled. It was hideous. Reno walked over too. He said, "She is right."

  Anabia said, "Of course, she is. You are the guy who believed there's a demon down here that killed your friend."

  "It is cause and reaction, the traps," Reno explained in a voice like a priest. He pointed to the floor. "They put something here that makes the door open, to keep the treasure in. That thing must die. Even if the door opens."

  Diggs frowned at the boy. "You mean, cause and effect—"

  "Effect, yes."

  "I think the boy is on to something. We should listen," said Diggs.

  So they listened. Reno explained that the ancient Inca people believed to keep people out of any place, they had to make an example of offenders. Gangsters like Pietro follow this same pattern: they'd bait, trap, and kill to induce their enemies to surrender.

  Olivia recalled how she was almost run down in the street. And how the others almost died too.

  Then she remembered Andrew. She hadn't heard from him. She hoped she was safe.

  A little more away in the shadows, Olivia felt a fall on the floor. Like the last corridor, the floor leveled. She went down with her torch. She cleared the thick carpet of dust that had caked onto it. Sure enough, the holes were there, not circular like the last one, but square. She smiled.

  "Yes, I found it!"

  The men rushed to her side. Frank Miller asked, "What now?"

  —

  Pietro Oscar had also made his own deductions. If he was going to leave this place alive, he'd have to play by the rules of the temple. The rules required understanding the field of play.

  The questions had already been asked. What is the answer? Pietro murmured to himself. The man, Kowalski, was right. Questions were all around him; the proper thing to do was to find the answers.

  The answer right now was: down here, death rules. The price of gold is life. He'd have to make sure it wasn’t his own life.

  Once again, the answer to his present predicament was that he lacked the expertise to get the gold hidden somewhere in this place, even though he seemed to possess more manpower.

  Pietro started walking back.

  "Boss? Where are you going?"

  He looked back. The man who talked to him was tall. One of his best men, but most unimaginative. It was why he was in this detail in the first place. His name was Alexander. Pietro called him Alex.

  "To look for answers, Alex. Take five men, go round. I want to see how far around this place is."

  "But boss, the Americans could escape."

  "Walk for five minutes," Pietro said, ignoring him, "and if we don't meet, come back here."

  Alex stared helplessly for a moment; Pietro started off with three other guys. He gave orders for the rest of the army to wait for his arrival. Finally, Alex gave up on his curiosity—which was, of course, easier for him. He picked his choice of the boys and did as he was told.

  More grumbles followed the new directions. But it was nothing but a half-hearted attempt at revolt, which was mostly done behind the principal. Pietro heard it, but the circumstances required such focus that he'd rather deal with the perceived insubordination at a later time.

  The truth, however, was even Pietro Oscar in all his grandiose prating was not a very bright man. He walked twelve meters in the opposite direction but did not notice the slant in the terrain of the hallway.

  He indeed tripped over the bump where the slant stopped, but he walked on.

  He missed one of his answers.

  —

  The man, Alex, was in a worse situation.

  He was eluded by both the question and the answer. And this utter ignorance will almost cost him his life.

  But first, for the first time, he did some thinking, and for a fraction of a minute, his mind received a little enlightenment of how much a man was worth.

  Escorted by four men instead of five, he engaged these ones in a small conversation. He thought that the boss was eccentric. Was that necessary in this situation?

  No, the boys agreed.

  Good. How many needed to die before the Boss realizes the Americans weren't to be underestimated?

  "Maybe, you?" He gestured at the man on his right, then to the man on his left. "Or you, huh?"

  The boys grumbled that they did not want to die impaled like rachi on a hot, fat sprayed stick.

  "Me too," Alex said.

  Then he uttered perhaps his very first real orders (all orders had always come from the almighty mouth of Pietro). He stopped the four men with him. He shone his torch down the dark hall, then back at the way they just came. No one was looking or listening. They were alone, and Pietro was out of sight.

  "We can set ourselves up."

  "Pietro will kill you and hang your head on a spike, Alex," said one of the men.

  And he was right. Alex knew it too, for he shivered and squinted his eyes at the prospect. And his wife and daughter? He closed his eyes, shaking his head to drive the picture of his massacred family from his head.

  "No, we can do it! The Americans are almost close to the gold now. We cease them, make them get the gold, and then keep it for ourselves."

  "What about the boss?" they asked him.

  "The bo
ss is on a wild goose chase after shadows. You saw him, didn't you? Going in the opposite direction. If he knew what he was doing—"

  "That's not what we mean," said the nearest guy. "How will you deal with the boss when he finds out what you've done?"

  Alex hadn't considered that bit. His mouth clamped shut. A vision of his own head hanging on a spike in the street of Apachia hurried past his mind.

  "He will never know."

  "And if he does?"

  "We'll see."

  So Alex and the men with him walked some more. They were oblivious to how much time had passed since they left the others. Alex shone his torch on the wall as they walked by. He spotted what looked like a square hole in the wall. He could not be sure, but it looked like there were two of them. The dried brown algae were all over the walls. In some places, more than others. And in some places, the ancient markings and symbols were still visible. If only he could read them.

  He stopped walking and said, "Pietro would be coming round this way. Let's go back and find the American."

  He looked at his companions. They cocked their AKs; he cocked his, too, and nodded at them.

  Off they went looking for Olivia and her team.

  —

  It became apparent to Alex immediately that it was not as easy to cajole twenty more men, as it was to persuade four. However, about twelve more men loved the idea of making their own rules and getting their hands on the gold while at it. They followed Alex back through the open doorway, where the woman and her American friends awaited them.

  —

  Olivia heard them first.

  She was explaining her plan, which was an uncomfortable one. They tried to recreate what happened earlier with the spikes, only this time, they'd try to achieve it without bloodshed.

  "Are you insane?" Liam threw his hands in the air. "We can't do that!"

  "Yes, we can. It is either that, or we waste precious time and die eventually, just like Coleman and Reno's friend."

  Miller and Diggs came closer. Miller said, "Olivia, there's gotta be another way."

  "Wait."

  She turned around sharply.

  "Someone's coming—"

  They listened. Sure enough, there were heavy footfalls, many of them coming their way. She heard the familiar cock of guns. "They're coming."

  "Come on, people," Diggs said, backing away from the trap point.