Maggie felt a sick tightness in her belly. She continued down the passage, forcing her legs to stop trembling. She would not give in to her fear. “Th… this way,” she said. “It’s not too far.”
Abbot Ruiz stuck close to her shoulder, all but breathing down her neck. He wheezed, his face as red as a beet. Prayers mumbled from his lips.
“It’s just through there,” she said, as they neared the exit to the tunnel.
The abbot pushed her aside, marching forward, determined to be the first through. But when he reached the exit, he hesitated. His nose curled at the stronger stench of sulfur here. “I don’t see anything.”
Maggie joined him and pointed to the trail in the jungle ahead. “Just follow the path.”
The abbot stared. Maggie feared he would balk. She was sure he could hear her heart pounding in her throat. But she maintained a calm demeanor. “Janan pacha lies just inside the jungle. About a hundred meters. It is a sight no one could put into mere words.”
“Heaven…” Abbot Ruiz took a step into the caldera, then another—still he was cautious. He waved his five men ahead of him. “Check it out. Watch for any hostiles.”
His men, rifles at shoulders now, scurried ahead. The abbot followed, keeping a safe distance back. Maggie was forced to leave the tunnel to maintain the ruse. She held her breath as she reentered the foul nest of the creatures. Where the hell were the monsters?
She took a third step away from the entryway when she heard a rasp of rock behind her. She swung around. Perched over the rough entrance to the tunnel was one of the pale beasts. One of the scouts. It clung by claws, upside down. It knew it had been spotted. A hissing scream burst from its throat as it leaped at her.
Maggie froze. Answering cries exploded from the forest’s edge. It was a trap, and here was the sentinel. Maggie ducked. But the scout was too quick, lightning fast. The beast hit her. She fell backward and used the attacker’s momentum to fling it down the short slope behind her. She did not wait to see what happened. She scrambled to her feet and dived for the tunnel.
Behind her, spats of gunfire exploded; screams of terror and pain accompanied the weapons fire. But over it all, the wail and shriek of the beasts.
In the safety of the tunnel, Maggie swung around, facing the opening. She saw the abbot level his pistol and fire point-blank into the skull of the beast that had attacked her. It flopped and convulsed on the ground. The abbot glanced to the forest’s edge, where his men still fought for their lives. He turned his back on them and ran toward the passageway, toward Maggie. He spotted her; hatred and anger filled his eyes. No one thwarted the Spanish Inquisition.
Maggie backed down the tunnel as the abbot pulled up to the entrance. Heaving heavily, the obese man struggled to breathe. He gasped out, “You bitch!” Then he leveled his pistol and stepped inside.
Jesus! There was nowhere to run.
“You will suffer. That I guarant—” Suddenly the abbot was yanked backward with a squawk of surprise. His gun went off, the shot wild. The bullet ricocheted past Maggie’s ear.
A scream of horror erupted from the man as he was dragged from the tunnel and flung around. A hulking pale monster, another pack leader, had his expensive safari jacket snagged in a clawed fist. The other hand grabbed the abbot by the throat. More beasts soon appeared, more razored fists snatching at the choice meal. His gun was knocked from his grip. The abbot’s scream became strangled as he was dragged away from the tunnel’s entrance. A pale face, mouth bloodied, appeared at the tunnel opening. It hissed at her, then dived to the side, joining in the feeding frenzy.
She swung away and turned her back on the slaughter.
Behind her, a sharp screech of pain died into a wet gurgle. She hurried farther down the passage, toward the torchlight, away from the howling.
At the temple’s entrance, she saw the lone guard. He stepped toward her, gun pointed. “Que hiscistes?” he barked in Spanish, asking her what she had done. She saw the terror in his eyes.
Suddenly, Henry stepped behind him and pressed the barrel of a pistol to the back of the guard’s head. It was the weapon the professor had taken from the monk by the helicopter. “She was taking out the garbage.” He pressed the barrel more firmly. “Any problem with that?”
The man dropped his rifle and sank to his knees. “No.”
“That’s better.” Henry crossed in front of the man and kicked the rifle toward Maggie. “You know how to use that?”
“I’m from Belfast,” she said, retrieving the gun. She cocked it, checked the magazine, and lifted it to her shoulder.
Henry turned to his prisoner. “And you? Do you know how to fly the helicopter?”
The man nodded.
“Then you get to live.”
Suddenly a groan sounded from the next room. Henry and Maggie swung around. They watched the golden umbilicus spasm and the gold coating begin to slide from Sam’s body. Like a large siphon, it drew the metal from his skin, then coiled up on itself, churning and slowly twisting overhead.
Another groan flowed from Sam.
The guard stared into the temple, mouth gaped open in surprise. He crossed himself hurriedly.
“He’s breathing,” Henry said. He stepped toward the entrance.
Maggie grabbed his elbow. “Be careful. I don’t know if we should interfere yet.” Her words were strained, speaking while holding her breath. Dare she hope…?
Sam pushed to one elbow. His eyes were unfocused. His other arm rose to swipe at his face, as if brushing away cobwebs. He moaned slightly, wincing.
Henry reached a hand out. “Sam?”
He seemed to focus on the voice, coughing to clear his lungs. “Un… Uncle Hank?” Sam shoved up, weaving slightly. His eyes finally seemed to focus. “God… my head.”
“Move slowly, Sam,” Maggie urged. “Take it easy.”
Sam swung his feet to the floor with another groan. “I could use a bucketful of aspirin.” He finally seemed to realize where he was. He craned his neck and stared up at the twined ball of golden strands. “What am I doing here?”
“You don’t remember?” Maggie asked, concerned. He sounded lucid, but was there some sustained damage?
Sam frowned at his chest. The fingers of his right hand trailed to his bullet-torn vest. He stuck a finger through the hole, then pulled open his vest. There was no wound. “I was shot.” His statement had the edge of a question.
Maggie nodded. “You died, but the temple cured you.”