The three of them leapt aboard one of the Super Stallions.
No sooner were they on board than all three choppers lifted off the tarmac and headed north.
But they did not leave unobserved.
Standing at a distance from the airport, watching the choppers through a pair of high-powered binoculars, was a
man dressed in a white linen suit and a cream Panama hat.
Lieutenant Nathan Sebastian.
Frank Nash's two Hueys landed gently on the river beside the ruins of Vilcafor in the fading light of dusk, in a downpour of torrential rain.
After they came to rest on the river's surface, the two pilots manoeuvred their birds around so that their pontoons ran aground on the soft mud of the riverbank.
The Green Berets leapt out onto the shore first, their M16s up and ready. The civilian members of the team stepped up onto the mud after them. Race came out last of all and stood at the river's edge—gunless—staring in awe at the ruins of the citadel town of Vilcafor.
The village was essentially comprised of a grass-covered central street that ran for about a hundred yards away from the river. It was lined on both sides by roofless stone huts that were overgrown with weeds and moss. The whole town, in fact, was covered in foliage—-it was as if the rain- forest surrounding it had come alive and consumed it whole.
At Race's end of the street was the river and the rickety remains of an old wooden jetty. At the other end of the street—looking down over the little town like some kind of protective god—were the ruins of the great pyramid- like citadel.
In truth, the citadel was no bigger than a two-storey suburban house. But it was made of some of the most solid- looking stones Race had ever seen. It was that same precise Incan masonry he had read about in the manuscript. Giant square-shaped boulders that had been pounded into shape by Incan stonemasons and then set perfectly in place alongside other, similarly fashioned boulders. No mortar was necessary and none had been used.
The citadel was made up of two tiers, both of them circular in shape—the upper level a smaller concentric circle that rested atop the larger lower one.
The whole structure, however, looked weathered and worn, beaten and decrepit. The once intimidating stone walls were now laced with green vines and a network of forked cracks. The whole upper level was broken and crumbling.
The lower level was still largely intact, but completely overgrown with weeds. A large doorstone sat at an odd angle inside the building's main entranceway.
Aside from the citadel, there was one other dominant feature of the village.
The town of Vilcafor was surrounded by a huge dried-up moat—an enormous horseshoe-shaped ditch that ran around the entire town, starting at the riverbank and ending at the riverbank. Two great stone dikes prevented the water in the river from rushing into the moat.
It must have been at least fifteen feet across and just as
deep. Tangled thorny thickets of brush snaked their way along its waterless base. Two old wooden log- bridges spanned its width on either side of the village. Like the rest of the town, they too had been overcome by the encroaching rainforest. Their wooden beams were laced with sprawling green vines.
Race stood motionless at the end of the old Incan street,
the pouring rain running off the brim of his cap.
He felt like he was entering another world.
An ancient world.
A dangerous world.
'Don't stay near the water too long,' Lauren said as she strode past him.
Race turned, not understanding. Lauren clicked on her flashlight and pointed it at the river behind him.
It was as if someone had just flicked on a light switch.
Race saw them instantly. Glinting in the light of Lauren's
flashlight.
Eyes.
No less than fifty pairs of eyes, protruding from the inky
black water, stared back at him from the rain-spattered surface of the river.
He turned quickly to Lauren. 'Alligators?'
'No,” Walter Chambers said, coming over. “Melanosuchus niger. Black caimans. Largest crocodilian on the continent.
Some sa the largest in the world. They're bigger than any alligator, and in biology more like a crocodile. In fact, the black caiman is a close relative of Crocodylus porosus, the ant Australian saltwater crocodile.'
'How big are they?' Race asked. He could only see the eerie constellation of eyes before him. He couldn't tell how big the reptiles in the water actually were.
'About twenty-two feet,' Chambers said cheerfully.
