Empire of Gold

Straining, Eddie reached down as far as he could, and slowly, painfully, pulled up his legs to bring Pachac into range of the knife. The Peruvian realised what he was about to do, and his face filled with helpless horror. ‘No! Don’t do it! Please!’

Jaw clenched, Eddie held the knife poised above the other man’s hand. ‘This is for what you did to Mac.’

Pachac tried again to find a foothold, failed. ‘Who? Who is Mac?’

‘My friend. You killed him.’

‘The government man?’

Disgust rose inside Eddie. The bastard didn’t even remember! He dug the knife’s point into the back of Pachac’s hand, making him gasp. ‘Grey hair! Beard! Know who I mean now, you fucking piece of shit?’

‘The old man?’ There was genuine confusion behind the fear. ‘But – I never touched him!’

‘No. You shot him. In the back.’ He slowly turned the knife. Blood ran from the wound, oozing down Pachac’s arm. ‘But I want to look you in the face . . . when I do this.’

He stabbed the knife through the Peruvian’s hand and twisted it, hard. There was a sharp crack of bone. Pachac screamed in agony and terror as he lost his grip. He hung for a moment on his injured arm – then Eddie smashed his heel down and snapped two of his fingers. Pachac dropped away, Eddie watching coldly as he vanished into the clouds below. The scream continued after he disappeared, fading to nothing.

The tree shook violently with the release of weight. Eddie stabbed the knife back into the root, pulling himself up. Dirt and grit showered over him. At any moment, it would rip away from the cliff—

He lunged for a solid nub of rock to one side, clawing at the stone as the tree plunged into the valley. Branches slashed at him as the tree fell, trying to drag him down with it. He yelled, battling to keep his grip – then it was gone, tumbling down the cliff to be swallowed by the blankness beneath.

Eddie dangled, recovering his breath. His anger receded as the reality of his situation sank in. The road was sixty or seventy feet above. How the hell was he going to get up there? He scraped his boots against the rock, but only found enough purchase to support the tip of one foot. Bracing himself, he experimentally reached higher for a handhold. All his fingertips found was slick, treacherous wet mud caking every surface. Unclimbable.

‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘buggeration and f—’

Clank!

A noise above. Metal on stone. He looked up – and saw a hook scraping down the cliff towards him.

Nina! It had to be. He waited until the hook, at the end of a steel winch cable, was within reach, then grabbed it with one hand and tugged repeatedly to signal that he had a firm hold. It stopped. He locked his other hand over the first, then pushed himself out from the rockface with his feet.

The cable retracted. He rose with it, boots rasping over the rock. Before long he saw the expedition’s Nissan Patrol at the edge of the road – and a familiar face gazing anxiously down at him.

‘Eddie!’ Nina shouted. ‘Oh, thank God, thank God!’

‘Are you okay?’ he called.

Macy was at the 4?4’s winch, relief plain on her face. ‘Are we okay?’ she said in disbelief. ‘You just went over a cliff, and you’re worried about us? We didn’t even know if you were still down there!’

‘Then why’d you throw down the cable?’

‘Because I was sure that you were,’ said Nina, pulling the line to help him up the last few feet. He scrambled on to the muddy road, looked into her eyes . . . then, wordlessly, they embraced.

Macy eventually broke the silence. ‘What happened to Pachac?’

Eddie’s voice was flat. ‘He’s dead.’

Nina eased her hold and leaned back. ‘What about you? How . . . how are you feeling?’

It took a few seconds for him to provide an answer. ‘I’m okay.’ In truth, he didn’t know what he was feeling – or even if he felt anything at all. He had expected some sort of catharsis at Pachac’s death, a release of anger or satisfaction or a sense that justice had been done . . . but there was nothing, just an empty numbness.

‘You sure?’ There was concern in her voice.

‘Yeah.’ He looked away, at the Patrol. ‘Get the satphone. We need to call this in.’

The chatter of rotor blades echoed off the cliffs around the entrance to El Dorado. This time, though, the helicopters were not gunships but transport aircraft, both civil and military. Nina’s call to the Peruvian government, telling them what had happened – and what she had found – brought a rapid response, the first soldiers arriving to secure the area within an hour.

More troops soon followed, accompanied by civilian officials. Taking charge of the operation was Felipe Alvarado, Zender’s superior and head of the Ministry of Culture. In his late fifties, he had a weary, cynical face that suggested he’d seen it all – but his astounded expression when he emerged from the cave proved that that was not the case. ‘Dr Wilde!’ he cried. ‘This is amazing, incredible! El Dorado, real – and in my country!’

Nina was too exhausted to respond with similar enthusiasm. ‘Yeah. It’s a hell of a thing.’

‘The lost city of gold – it is almost too much to believe. I admit, when the IHA first asked permission to search for it, I did not believe it.’

‘Is that why you sent Zender instead of coming yourself?’

Alvarado’s gaze moved to the edge of the drained pool, where several forms lay beneath sheets: some of those killed inside the cave, recovered by the soldiers. ‘Oh, Diego,’ he said with a tinge of sadness. ‘He wanted to be in the news, for everyone to know his name. But not like this.’