Empire of Gold

‘What does it mean?’ she asked. ‘What’s the Inkarri?’

‘An Inca myth – a prophecy, of a leader who will restore the Inca empire to glory. My God! He really thinks he’s the Inkarri reborn!’ The German buried his head in his hands.

Callas gestured to the two soldiers, who picked up Cayo’s body and slung it into the back of the truck. Loretta was now too far gone even to scream again, curled up tightly and rocking back and forth as Macy held her. Nina, nauseated, looked away from the still bleeding corpse to see Stikes and the pilot returning from the Hind. ‘Well,’ the Englishman announced, ‘everything seems in order.’

‘It is ready?’ Callas asked.

‘It’ll need some minor maintenance before the operation, but nothing Gurov can’t handle.’ He nodded at the pilot. ‘It may have been decommissioned, but everything except the weaponry is still working. And we can have the fire control systems reinstalled in twenty-four hours. All it needs is a lick of paint, some ammunition, the transponder code, and we’re good to go.’

‘Good. Good!’ Callas beamed. ‘Arcani, I cannot thank you enough. This helicopter is crucial to Venezuela’s future. Your support is beyond price.’

‘Unlike the safe passage of my drugs through your country,’ Pachac replied sharply.

‘For your help, you will get a very big discount on the percentage you pay me! But I told you I have another gift.’ He presented the smaller holdall to the Peruvian. ‘Here.’

Pachac, not sure what to expect, opened the bag. Inside was a polished wooden box, about eight inches square. He lifted the lid – and gasped.

Nina craned her neck for a better look. She was almost as impressed as Pachac by the box’s contents: a smaller version of the golden sun disc, with elaborate tongues of ‘fire’ spiralling out from its edges.

‘An Inca treasure,’ said Callas. ‘I thought you should have it.’

Pachac’s wonder quickly faded, resentment surfacing. ‘While you sell the other lost treasures of my people to anyone who has the dollars.’

‘They were found in Venezuela,’ Callas said patronisingly. ‘So they belong to my people, not yours. And you could have bid for any of them – if your followers in the True Red Way did not mind you spending millions of dollars of the cause’s money on golden trinkets . . . ’

The Peruvian snapped the box shut and turned angrily away, taking in the crate next to the Venezuelan helicopter for the first time. Realisation dawned as its odd dimensions suggested what it might contain. He whirled back to Callas. ‘That – that is—’

‘The Punchaco, yes,’ Callas replied. ‘Two tons of Inca gold.’

‘You must let me have it. You must.’ Pachac was almost pleading. ‘It is the greatest symbol of the Incas – of my people. We must have it back!’

‘The gold alone is worth more than you can afford, Inkarri.’ The general’s use of the title now held more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘And because it is an Inca treasure, it is even more valuable. But I have found a buyer.’

Pachac’s face paled. ‘No . . . ’ he whispered, then more forcefully, with rising anger: ‘No! Not him!’

‘Yes, your old friend - your old partner, Francisco de Quesada. He can afford it. And anything else he desires. You could have been the same, if you had concentrated on business and not politics . . . ’

The Maoist’s teeth clenched in rage. ‘He only wants it to insult me! And you cannot even get it to him. My contacts told me that your smuggler, West, was arrested. Without him, it will never get through customs – and what else can you do, drive it through the jungle? There are many bandits round here. On both sides of the border.’ He gave Callas a pointed look. ‘You cannot give it to him.’

Callas laughed. ‘I am not giving it to him. He has already paid me the first twenty million dollars!’

Pachac looked down sharply at the bundles of banknotes. ‘You are paying me with that bastard’s money?’ A burst of invective, again in the unfamiliar language. ‘Give me the Punchaco, or this deal is off!’

‘The deal has been agreed, Arcani,’ said Callas.

‘I am not leaving without the Punchaco.’ Pachac’s right hand slipped inside his camouflage jacket.

The soldiers snapped up their AK-103s. Callas’s face was now stone. ‘Remember where you are, Pachac,’ he growled. ‘You have your money, my thanks, and even my gift. Take them, and have your revolution. But do not challenge me in my own country. It will be painful.’

The shorter man glared at him, breathing heavily. Finally, he zipped up the holdall, then picked it up and, the wooden box under one arm, strutted without a word back to the Jet Ranger.

‘Communist scum,’ snarled Callas once the Peruvian was aboard.

Stikes appeared entertained by the whole confrontation. ‘I did rather enjoy the hypocrisy, though. A man who’s such a hard-core Maoist that he thinks the Shining Path are counter-revolutionary, making millions by selling drugs. Holding two completely conflicting viewpoints at the same time? No wonder he’s insane.’

‘He did have a point, though,’ Callas admitted. ‘Without West, getting the Punchaco to de Quesada will be very difficult. And I need the rest of his payment – even after the operation succeeds, there will be chaos. The only way to calm it will be with money to the right people. Lots of money.’

An odd smile crept on to Stikes’s face, and he gave Nina a calculating look. ‘I think I may have a way.’

Callas regarded him questioningly, but before he could speak the Jet Ranger took off, sweeping more dust across the helipad. Stikes brushed grit from his sleeves and addressed the Russian pilot. ‘Gurov, take the Hind to the staging area and restore the weapons. General,’ he said to Callas as Gurov returned to the gunship, ‘we should get back to the Clubhouse – there are still tactical issues to discuss.’