Empire of Gold

diverts funds from serious research and puts it into grand exhibitions, like Atlantis. Our work is not supposed to be a fairground show.’ He gestured at Kit. ‘And we are archaeologists, not policemen! Why is Interpol involved?’

Nina passed a folder to Osterhagen. ‘Take a look.’

He scowled and flipped it open . . . and his expression became first one of shock, then wonder. Inside were the photographs of the black market artefacts Kit had shown her in New York. He shuffled back and forth through them before looking up at Nina in amazement. ‘Where were these found?’

‘That’s the thing,’ Nina said, relieved by his abrupt change of attitude. ‘They’d been sold on the black market, which is why Interpol got involved, but they were found here. In Venezuela. And that’s why I requested this meeting. You’re one of the world’s foremost experts in Inca history, so I thought you might be interested. But if you’d prefer to leave it to the IHA . . . ’

Sourness crept on to Osterhagen’s face as his displeasure at being played and his lust for knowledge fought it out, but the latter was quickly victorious. ‘The site these came from . . . you think it may be . . . ?’ He mouthed a word.

Nina spoke it for him. ‘Paititi. Somewhere in the south of the country, along the middle Orinoco.’

‘Paititi! In Venezuela? But – of course, Raleigh and the Manoans, Juan Martinez being set adrift. Twenty days’ travel along the Orinoco. It could be . . . ’ His gaze went right through Nina as he focused on the images in his mind.

‘So, Dr Osterhagen,’ she said, ‘are you interested in joining the expedition?’

He blinked, returning to the present. ‘I think . . . it would be best if you had an expert like myself accompanying you, yes. In the interests of inter-agency cooperation.’

She smiled thinly. ‘I’m glad you agree.’

Osterhagen regarded the photographs again. ‘I will need my assistants, of course.’

‘I’ll make the arrangements,’ Nina told him. The German gave her the details, then departed – with an almost pained look as he was made to return the photos of the Inca treasures.

‘Wow,’ said Macy. ‘I didn’t realise some people had such a problem with the IHA.’

‘Experts get very territorial,’ said Nina. ‘Especially when there’s funding involved.’

Eddie laughed. ‘Thank God you’ve never got stroppy with anyone who’s stepped on your turf, eh?’ He went to a large map of Venezuela laid out on a desk. ‘So we’ve got the expert on board. What about local support?’ He tracked the Orinoco river south along the Venezuelan-Colombian border until it turned back east into the former country, picking out the tiny dot that marked Valverde.

‘The Venezuelans are giving us a guide, and a pilot,’ said Nina, slightly annoyed by his jibe.

Kit joined Eddie at the map. ‘Military?’

‘Militia, I think.’

‘What’s the difference?’ asked Macy.

‘The militia’s loyal to el Presidente,’ said Eddie. ‘The military’s loyal to the country. Not always the same thing.’ He looked more closely at the map. ‘Better take plenty of bug repellent. That’s a big load of green nothing around there – jungle and swamps, probably.’

Nina looked at the photographs, then across at the case containing the two statues. ‘There’s something else there. Let’s hope we can find it.’

Two days later, the expedition assembled in the little jungle town of Valverde, where Nina discovered to her surprise that their Venezuelan guide and pilot were the same person. Oscar Valero was a heavy-set man in his forties, proudly dressed in the olive-green fatigues and cap of the Bolivarian Militia; it was also clear from his not exactly subtle questions that he had been told to keep a close watch on the yanquis.

Osterhagen, meanwhile, had been joined by his assistants – three of them, giving Nina the feeling that he was trying to match the numbers of ‘her’ team. Ralf Becker, gangling and thatch-haired, was another German and Osterhagen’s deputy, while the other two were Americans: Loretta Soto, a plump and shy Hispanic woman, and Day Cuff, a long-faced young man with a pretentious little triangular ‘soul patch’ beard. Cuff’s eyes had immediately locked on to Macy – more specifically, her chest – and it seemed nothing short of a nuclear strike would draw them away.

They met in the bar of the optimistically named Hotel Grande, mostly for the practical reason that it was Valverde’s only hotel, but also because of its connection to the Interpol investigation: a payphone in its lobby was the landline through which Stamford West had communicated with his local contact. Like the hotel, though, the payphone was the only one in Valverde. The stream of people using it seemed to rule out any chance of spotting an obvious suspect.

‘Lot of soldiers around here,’ Eddie noted as another uniformed man made a call. There had also been a visible military presence on the streets.

‘There is a base near here, to watch the border,’ explained Valero. ‘To keep out the drug-running dogs and the Colombian puppets of the gringo imperialists. No offence,’ he added with a cheery smile at Nina.

‘None taken,’ she replied icily. ‘You know what we need you to do for the aerial survey, right?’

‘Si, no problem. If there’s something out there, we’ll find it. You wanna start now?’

The way Osterhagen leaned forward expectantly told Nina that she wasn’t the only one impatient to begin the search. ‘No time like the present.’

Becker sprang to his feet. ‘Great, okay, let’s go!’ he said enthusiastically as he donned a hat – a rather familiar-looking fedora.

Eddie grinned. ‘He thinks he’s Indiana Jones,’ he whispered to Nina.

‘All archaeologists think they’re Indiana Jones,’ Nina replied as she stood, equally amused. ‘Well, except the ones who think they’re Lara Croft.’