Inca Gold dp-12 Page 7

  Then providence laid a benevolent hand on his shoulder. The problem of creeping up the stairs unseen was erased when Pitt observed that the terrorist who was guarding the entrance to the temple had fallen hard asleep from the effects of the exhausting march through the jungle mountains. Inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, Pitt stealthily crept toward the stairway.

  Tupac Amaru was a smooth but dangerous character, and he looked it. Having taken the name of the last king of the Incas to be tortured and killed by the Spanish, he was short, narrow-shouldered, with a vacant, brown face devoid of expression. He looked as though he never learned how to express the least hint of compassion. Unlike most of the hill-country people whose broad faces were smooth and hairless, Amaru wore a huge moustache and long sideburns that stretched from a thick mass of straight hair that was as black as his empty eyes. When the narrow, bloodless lips arched in a slight smile, which was rare, they revealed a set of teeth that would make an orthodontist proud. His men, conversely, often grinned diabolically through jagged and uneven coca-stained bicuspids.

  Amaru had cut a swath of death and destruction throughout the jungle hill country of Amazonas, a department in northeastern Peru that had more than its share of poverty, terrorism, sickness, and bureaucratic corruption. His band of cutthroats was responsible for the disappearance of several explorers, government archaeologists, and army patrols that had entered the region and were never seen again. He was not the revolutionary he seemed. Amaru couldn't have cared less about revolution or improving the lot of the abysmally poor Indians of the Peruvian hinterlands, most of whom worked tiny plots to eke out a bare existence. Amaru had other reasons for controlling the region and keeping the superstitious natives under his domination.

  He stood in the doorway of the chamber, staring stonily at the three men and one woman before him as if for the first time, relishing the defeat in their eyes, the weariness in their bodies, exactly the state he-wanted them.

  "I regret the inconvenience," he said, speaking for the first time since the abduction. "It is good that you offered no resistance or you would have surely been shot."

  "You speak pretty good English for a highlands guerrilla," Rodgers acknowledged, "Mr.-?"

  "Tupac Amaru. I attended the University of Texas at Austin."

  "What hath Texas wrought," Giordino mumbled under his breath.

  "Why have you kidnapped us?" Shannon whispered in a voice hushed with fear and fatigue.

  "For ransom, what else?" replied Amaru. "The Peruvian government will pay well for the return of such respected American scientists, not to mention their brilliant archaeology students, many of whom have rich and respected parents. The money will help us continue our fight against repression of the masses."

  "Spoken like a Communist milking a dead cow," muttered Giordino.

  "The old Russian version may well be history, but the philosophy of Mao Tse-tung lives on," Amaru explained patiently.

  "It lives on, all right," Doc Miller sneered. "Billions of dollars in economic damage. Twenty-six thousand Peruvians dead, most of the victims the very peasants whose rights you claim to be fighting for-" His words were cut off by a rifle butt that was jammed into his lower back near the kidney. Miller sagged to the stone floor like a bag of potatoes, his face twisted in pain.

  "You're hardly in a position to question my dedication to the cause," Amaru said coldly.

  Giordino knelt beside the old man and cradled his head. He looked up at the terrorist leader with scorn. "You don't take criticism very well, do you?"

  Giordino was prepared to ward off a blow to his exposed head, but before the guard could raise his rifle butt again, Shannon stepped between them.

  She glared at Amaru, the pale fear in her face replaced with red anger. "You're a fraud," Shannon stated firmly.

  Amaru looked at her with a bemused expression. "And what brings you to that curious conclusion, Dr. Kelsey?"

  "You know my name?"

  "My agent in the United States alerted me of your latest project to explore the mountains before you and your friends left the airport in Phoenix, Arizona."

  "Informant, you mean."

  Amaru shrugged. "Semantics mean little."

  "A fraud and a charlatan," Shannon continued. "You and your men aren't Shining Path revolutionaries. Far from it. You're nothing more than huaqueros, thieving tomb robbers."

  "She's right," Rodgers said, backing her up. "You wouldn't have time to chase around the countryside blowing up power lines and police stations and still accumulate the vast cache of artifacts inside this temple. It's obvious, you're running an elaborate artifact theft ring that has to be a full-time operation."

  Amaru looked at his prisoners in mocking speculation. "Since the fact must be patently apparent to everyone in the room, I won't bother to deny it."

  A few seconds passed in silence, then Doc Miller rose unsteadily to his feet and stared Amaru directly in the eye. "You thieving scum," he rasped. "Pillager, ravager of antiquities. If it was in my power, I'd have you and your band of looters shot down like--"

  Miller broke off suddenly as Amaru, his features utterly lacking the least display of emotion and his black eyes venting evil, removed a Heckler & Koch nine-millimeter automatic from a hip holster. With the paralyzing inevitability of a dream, he calmly, precisely, shot Doc Miller in the chest. The reverberating blast echoed through the temple, deafening all ears. One shot was all that was required. Doc Miller jerked backward against the stone wall for one shocking moment, and then dropped forward onto his stomach without a sound, hands and arms twisted oddly beneath his chest as a pool of red oozed across the floor.

  The captives all reflected different reactions. Rodgers stood like a statue frozen in time, eyes wide with shock and disbelief, while Shannon instinctively screamed. No stranger to violent death, Giordino clenched his hands at his sides. The ice-cold indifference of the murderous act filled him with a savage rage that was tempered only by maddening helplessness. There was no doubt in his mind, in anybody's mind, that Amaru intended to kill them all. With nothing to lose, Giordino tensed to leap at the killer and tear out his throat before he received the inevitable bullet through the head.

  "Do not try it," said Amaru, reading Giordino's thoughts, aiming the muzzle of the automatic between the eyes that burned with hate. He inclined his head toward the guards, who stood with guns level and ready, and gave them orders in Spanish. Then he stepped aside as one of the guards grabbed Miller around the ankles, and dragged his body out of sight into the main room of the temple, leaving a trail of blood across the stone floor.

  Shannon's scream had given way to uncontrollable sobbing as she stared with bleak, unwavering eyes at the bloody streak on the floor. She sagged to her knees in shock and buried her face in her hands. "He couldn't harm you. How could you shoot down a kindly old man?"

  Giordino stared at Amaru. "For him, it was easy."

  Amaru's flat, cold eyes crawled to Giordino's face. "You would do well to keep your mouth closed, little man. The good doctor was supposed to be a lesson that apparently you did not comprehend."

  No one took notice of the return of the guard who had dragged away Miller's body. No one except Giordino. He caught the hat pulled down over the eyes, the hands concealed within the poncho. He flicked a glance at the second guard who slouched casually against the doorway, his gun now slung loosely over one shoulder, the muzzle pointing at no one in particular. Only two meters separated them. Giordino figured he could be all over the guard before he knew what hit him. But there was still the Heckler & Koch tightly gripped in Amaru's hand.

  When Giordino spoke, his voice wore a cold edge. "You are going to die, Amaru. You are surely going to die as violently as all the innocent people you've murdered in cold blood."

  Amaru didn't catch the millimetric curl of Giordino's lips, the slight squint of the eyes. His expression turned curious, then the teeth flashed and he laughed. "So? You think I'm going to die, do you? Will you be my executioner? Or w
ill the proud young lady do me the honor?"

  He leaned down and savagely jerked Shannon to her feet, took hold of her flowing ponytail, and viciously pulled her head backward until she was staring from wide, terrified eyes into his leering face. "I promise that after a few hours in my bed you'll crawl to obey my commands."

  "Oh, God, no," Shannon moaned.

  "I take great pleasure in raping women, listening as they scream and beg--"

  A brawny arm tightened around his throat and choked off his words. "This is for all the women you made suffer," said Pitt, a macabre look in his intense green eyes, as he cast aside the poncho, jammed the barrel of the .45 Colt down the front of Amaru's pants, and pulled the trigger.

  For the second time the small confines of the room echoed with the deafening sound of gunfire. Giordino hurled himself forward, his head and shoulder driving into the startled guard, crushing him against the hard wall, causing an explosive gasp of pain. He caught the distorted look of horror and agony on Amaru's face, the bulging eyes, his mouth open in a silent scream, a fleeting glimpse of the Heckler & Koch flying through the air as his hands clutched the mushrooming red stain in his groin. And then Giordino punched the guard in the teeth and tore the automatic rifle from his hands in almost the same movement. He swung around in a crouched firing position, muzzle aimed through the doorway.

  This time Shannon didn't scream. Instead, she crawled into a corner of the room and sat motionless, like a waxen effigy of herself, staring dumbly at Amaru's blood splattered over her bare arms and legs. If she had been terrified earlier, she was now merely numb with shock. Then she stared up at Pitt, lips taut, face pale, specks of blood in her blond hair.

  Rodgers was staring at Pitt too, with an expression of astonishment. Somehow he knew, recognized the eyes, the animal-like movements. "You're the diver from the cave," he said dazedly.

  Pitt nodded. "One and the same."

  "You're supposed to be back in the well," Shannon murmured in a trembling voice.

  "Sir Edmund Hillary has nothing on me." Pitt grinned slyly. "I scramble up and down the walls of sinkholes like a human fly." He shoved a horrified Amaru to the floor as if the terrorist were a drunk on a sidewalk and placed a hand on Giordino's shoulder. "You can relax, Al. The other guards have seen the light of decency and virtue."

  Giordino, with a smile as wide as an open drawbridge, laid aside the automatic rifle and embraced Pitt. "God, I never thought I'd see your gargoyle face again."

  "The things you put me through. . . A damned shame. I can't go away for half an hour without you involving me in a local crime wave."

  "Why the delay?" asked Giordino, not to be outdone. "We expected you hours ago."

  "I missed my bus. Which reminds me, where is my Dixieland band?"

  "They don't play sinkholes. Seriously, how in hell did you climb a sheer wall and trail us through the jungle?"

  "Not exactly a fun-filled feat, believe me. I'll tell you over a beer another time."

  "And the guards, what happened to the other four guards?"

  Pitt gave a negligent shrug. "Their attention wandered and they all met with unfortunate accidents, mostly concussions or possible skull fractures." Then his face turned grim. "I ran into one pulling Doc Miller's body through the main entrance. Who carried out the execution?"

  Giordino nodded at Amaru. "Our friend here shot him in the heart for no good reason. He's also the guy who dropped the safety line down around your head."

  "Then I won't bother myself with remorse," Pitt said, staring down at Amaru, who was clutching his groin and moaning in agony, fearful of looking to ascertain the damage. "Kind of makes me warm all over knowing that his sex life just went dysfunctional. Does he have a name?"

  "Calls himself Tupac Amaru," answered Shannon. "The name of the last Inca king. Probably took it to impress the hill people."

  "The Peruvian students," Giordino said, remembering. "They were herded down a stairway underneath the temple."

  "I've already released them. Brave kids. By now they should have the guerrillas tied up and neatly packaged until the government authorities arrive."

  "Not guerrillas, and hardly dedicated revolutionaries. More like professional artifact looters masquerading as Shining Path terrorists. They pillage precious antiquities to sell through international underground markets."

  "Amaru is only the base of a totem pole," added Rodgers. "His clients are the distributors who make the bulk of the profits."

  "They have good taste," observed Pitt. "From what I glimpsed, there must be enough prime merchandise stashed here to satisfy half the museums and private collectors in the world."

  Shannon hesitated a moment, then stepped up to Pitt, put her hands around his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him lightly on the lips. "You saved our lives. Thank you."

  "Not once but twice," Rodgers added, pumping Pitt's hand while Shannon still clung to him.

  "A lot of luck was involved," Pitt said with uncharacteristic embarrassment. Despite the damp, stringy hair, the lack of makeup, the dirty and torn blouse over the black swimsuit, and the incongruous hiking boots, he still saw a sensual lustiness about her.

  "Thank God you got here when you did," said Shannon with a shiver.

  "I deeply regret I was too late to save Doc Miller."

  "Where have they taken him?" asked Rodgers.

  "I stopped the scum who was disposing of the body just outside the temple entrance. Doc is lying on the landing above the steps."

  Giordino gazed at Pitt, inspecting him from head to toe, observing the multitude of cuts and scratches on his friend's face and arms from his race through the jungle in the dark, seeing a man who was all but dead on his feet. "You look like you just finished a triathlon and then fell on a roll of barbed wire. As your resident medicine man, I recommend a few hours rest before we hike back to the sinkhole campsite."

  "I look worse than I feel," Pitt said cheerfully. "Time enough for a snooze later. First things first. Me, I don't have the slightest inclination to play Tarzan again. I'm taking the next flight out of here."

  "Madness," muttered Giordino half in jest. "A few hours in the jungle and he goes flaky."

  "Do you really think we can fly out of here?" inquired Shannon skeptically.

  "Absolutely," Pitt said. "In fact I guarantee it."

  Rodgers stared at him. "Only a helicopter could come in and out of the valley."

  Pitt grinned. "I wouldn't have it any other way. How else do you think Amaru, or whatever his name is, transports his stolen goods to a coastal port for shipment out of the country? That calls for a communications system, so there must be a radio around we can appropriate to send out a call for help."

  Giordino gave an approving nod. "Makes sense, providing we can find it. A portable radio could be hidden anywhere in one of the surrounding ruins. We could spend days looking for it."

  Pitt stared down at Amaru, his face expressionless. "He knows where it is."

  Amaru fought off the pain and stared back at Pitt with black malignant eyes. "We have no radio," he hissed through clenched teeth.

  "Forgive me if I don't take you at your word. Where do you keep it?"

  "I will tell you nothing." Amaru's mouth twisted as he spoke.

  "Would you rather die?" Pitt queried dryly.

  "You would do me a service by killing me."

  Pitt's green eyes were as cold as a lake above timberline. "How many women have you raped and murdered?"

  Amaru's expression was contemptuous. "So numerous I've lost count."

  "You want me to fly into a rage and blow you away, is that it?"

  "Why don't you ask how many children I've slaughtered?"

  "You're only kidding yourself." Pitt took the Colt .45 and placed the muzzle against the side of Amaru's face. "Kill you? I fail to see the percentage in that. One shot through both eyes would be more appropriate. You'll still live, but along with your other recent impairment you'll also be blind."

  Amaru put on a
show of arrogance, but there was unmistakable fear in his dead eyes, and there was a noticeable trembling of his lips. "You're bluffing."

  "After the eyes, then the kneecaps," Pitt described conversationally. "Perhaps the ears next, or better yet the nose. If I were you, I'd quit while I was ahead."

  Seeing that Pitt was stone-cold serious, and realizing he was at a dead end, Amaru caved in. "You'll find what you're looking for inside a round building fifty meters west of the temple. There is a monkey carved above the doorway."

  Pitt turned to Giordino. "Take one of the students with you to translate. Contact the nearest Peruvian authorities. Give our location and report our situation. Then request they send in an army unit. There may be more of these characters lurking in the ruins."

  Giordino looked thoughtfully at Amaru. "If I send a Mayday over an open frequency, this homicidal maniac's pals in Lima might very well pick it up and send in a force of goons ahead of the army."

  "Trusting the army can be touch-and-go," added Shannon. "One or more of their high-ranking officers could be in on this."

  "Graft," Pitt stated philosophically, "makes the world go round."

  Rodgers nodded. "Shannon's right. This is tomb robbery on a grand scale. The profits could easily match the take of any top drug smuggling operation. Whoever the mastermind is, he couldn't conduct business without paying off government officials."

  "We can use our own frequency and contact Juan," suggested Shannon.

  "Juan?"

  "Juan Chaco, the Peruvian government coordinator for our project. He's in charge of our supply headquarters at the nearest city."