Giordino nodded. 'The rat who made off with the radio took the time to smash nearly four sixpacks of perfectly good Coors beer.'
'Coors in Peru?' Rodgers asked dubiously.
'I can show you the labels on the broken bottles,' moaned Giordino. 'Someone wanted us to go thirsty.'
'No fear of that with a jungle just beyond the pass,' Pitt said with a slight smile.
Giordino stared at Pitt, but there was no return smile. 'So how do we call in the marines?'
Pitt shrugged. 'With the tomb robbers' radio missing, and the one in our helicopter looking like a lump of Swiss cheese-' he broke off and turned to Rodgers. 'What about your communications at the sinkhole site?'
The photographer shook his head. 'One of Amaru's men shot our radio to junk the same as yours.'
'Don't tell me,' Shannon said resignedly, 'we have to trudge thirty kilometers back through the forest primeval to the project site at the sinkhole, and then another ninety kilometers to Chachapoya?'
'Maybe Chaco will become worried when he realizes all contact is lost with the project and send in a search party to investigate,' Rodgers said hopefully.
'Even if they traced us to the City of the Dead,' Pitt said slowly, 'they'd arrive too late. All they'd find would be dead bodies scattered around the ruins.'
Everyone glanced at him in puzzled curiosity.
'Amaru claimed we have upset the applecart of powerful men,' Pitt continued by way of explanation, 'and that they would never allow us to leave this valley alive for fear that we would expose their artifact theft operation.'
'But if they intended to kill us,' Shannon said uncertainly, 'why bring us here? They could have just as well shot everyone and thrown our remains into the sinkhole.'
'In order for them to make it look like a Shining Path raid, they may have had it in their mind to play the hostage for ransom game. If the Peruvian government, your university officials in the States, or the families of the archaeological students had paid enormous sums for your release, all the better. They'd have simply considered the ransom money as a bonus to the profits of their illegal smuggling and murdered all of you anyway.'
'Who are these people?' Shannon asked sharply.
'Amaru referred to them as the Solpemachaco, whatever that translates into.'
'Solpemachaco,' Shannon echoed. 'A combination Medusa/dragon myth from the local ancients. Folklore passed down through the centuries describes Solpemachaco as an evil serpent with seven heads who lives in a cave. One myth claims he lives here in the Pueblo de los Muertos.'
Giordino yawned indifferently. 'Sounds like a bad screenplay starring another monster from the bowels of the earth.'
'More likely a clever play on words,' said Pitt. 'A metaphor as a code name for an international looting organization with a vast reach into the underground antiquities market.'
'The serpent's seven heads could represent the masterminds behind the organization,' suggested Shannon.
'Or seven different bases of operation,' added Rodgers.
'Now that we've cleared up that mystery,' Giordino said wryly, 'why don't we clear the hell out of here and head for the sinkhole before the Sioux and Cheyenne come charging through the pass?'
'Because they'd be waiting when we got there,' said Pitt. 'Methinks we should stay put.'
'You really believe they'll send men to kill us?' Shannon said, her expression more angry than fearful.
Pitt nodded. 'I'd bet my pension on it. Whoever made off with the radio most certainly tattled on us. I judge his pals will soar into the valley like maddened hornets in. . .' he paused to glance at his watch before continuing, '. . . about an hour and a half. After that, they'll shoot down anyone who vaguely resembles an archaeologist.'
'Not what I call a cheery thought,' she murmured.
'With six automatic rifles and Dirk's handgun I reckon we might discourage a first-rate gang of two dozen cutthroats for all of ten minutes,' muttered Giordino gloomily.
'We can't stay here and fight armed criminals,' Rodgers protested. 'We'd all be slaughtered.'
'And there are the lives of those kids to consider,' said Shannon, suddenly looking a little pale.
'Before we're swept up in an orgy of pessimism,' said Pitt briskly, as if he hadn't a care in the world, 'I suggest we round up everyone and evacuate the temple.'
'Then what?' demanded Rodgers.
'First, we look around for Amaru's landing site.'
'For what purpose?'
Giordino rolled his eyes. 'I know that look. He's hatching another Machiavellian scheme.'
'Nothing too contrived,' Pitt said patiently. 'I figure that after the bushwhackers land and begin chasing around the ruins searching for us, we'll borrow their helicopter and fly off to the nearest four-star hotel and a refreshing bath.'
There was a moment of incredulous stillness. They all stared at Pitt as if he'd just stepped out of a Martian space capsule. Giordino was the first to break the stunned silence.
'See,' he said with a wide grin. 'I told you so.'
Pitt's estimate of an hour and a half was shy by only ten minutes. The stillness of the valley was broken by the throb of rotor blades whipping the air as two Peruvian military helicopters flew over the crest of a saddle between mountain peaks and circled the ancient buildings. After a cursory reconnaissance of the area, they descended in a clearing amid the ruins less than 100 meters (328 feet) from the front of the conical temple structure. The troops spilled out rapidly through the rear clamshell doors under the beating rotor blades and lined up at rigid attention as though they were standing for inspection.
These were no ordinary soldiers dedicated to preserving the peace of their nation. They were mercenary misfits who hired themselves out to the highest bidder. At the direction of the officer in charge, a captain incongruously attired in full dress uniform, the two platoons of thirty men each were formed into one closely packed battle line led by two lieutenants. Satisfied the line was straight, the captain raised a swagger stick above his head and motioned for the officers under his command to launch the assault on the temple. Then he climbed a low wall to direct the one-sided battle from what he thought was a safe viewpoint.
The captain shouted encouragement to his men, urging them to bravely charge up the steps of the temple. His voice echoed because of the hard acoustics of the ruins. But he broke off and uttered a strange awking sound that became a fit of gagging pain. For a brief instant he stiffened, his face twisted in incomprehension, then he folded forward and pitched off the wall, landing with a loud crack on the back of his head.
A short, dumpy lieutenant in baggy combat fatigues rushed over and knelt beside the fallen captain, looked up at the funeral palace in dazed understanding, opened his mouth to shout an order, then crumpled over the body beneath him, the sharp crack of a Type 56-1 rifle the last thing he heard before death swept over him.
From the landing on the upper level of the temple, flat on his stomach behind a small barricade of stones, Pitt stared down at the line of confused troops through the sights of the rifle and fired another four rounds into their ranks, picking off the only remaining officer. There was no look of surprise or fear on Pitt's face at seeing the overwhelming mercenary force, only a set look of determination in the deep green eyes. By resisting he was providing a diversion to save the lives of thirteen innocent people. Merely firing over the troops' heads to momentarily slow the assault was a futile waste of time. These men had come to kill all witnesses to a criminal operation. Kill or be killed was a cliche, but it held true. These men would give no quarter.
Pitt was not a pitiless man, his eyes were neither steel hard nor ice cold. For him there was no enjoyment in killing a complete stranger. His biggest regret was that the faceless men responsible for the crimes were not in his sights.
Cautiously, he pulled the assault rifle back from the tight peephole between the stones and surveyed the ground below. The Peruvian mercenaries had fanned out behind the stone ruins. A few scattered shots were fired upward at the temple, chipping the stone carvings before ricocheting and whining off into the cliff of tombs behind. These were hardened, disciplined fighting men who recovered quickly under pressure. Killing their officers had stalled but not stopped them. The sergeants had taken command and were concentrating on a tactic to eliminate this unexpected resistance.
Pitt ducked back behind the stone barricade as a torrent of automatic weapons fire peppered the outside
