Maggie pushed beside Sam. “What about Denal?”
Pachacutec heard her. “The boy. He be not fourteen years. Too young for huarachicoy.” He smiled as if this explained it all.
Sam frowned. Huarachicoy was the ceremonial feast where a boy was accepted as a man into a tribe, when he was given his first huara, the loincloth of an adult tribesman. “What do you mean ‘too young’?”
Kamapak raised his face and spoke. Norman translated. “It was decided that the boy, like all the tribe’s children, was to be taken to the temple. He was to be gifted directly to the gods.”
Maggie turned to Sam. “Sacrifice,” she said with fear.
“When?” Sam asked. “When was this to be done?”
Pachacutec glanced to the rising sun. The bright disk was fully above the volcanic edge. “It be done already. The boy be with the gods.”
Sam stumbled backward. “No…”
The Texan’s reaction confused the king. The Sapa Inca’s bright smile faltered. “Be this not Inti’s wish?”
“No!” Sam said more forcefully.
Maggie grabbed Sam’s elbow. “We need to go to that temple. Maybe he’s still alive. We don’t know for sure that he’s dead.”
Sam nodded at her words. There was a chance. He faced Kamapak and Pachacutec. “Take us to the temple.”
The king bowed his head, offering no argument to one of the chosen. Instead, he waved, and the shaman stood. “Kamapak will guide you.”
“I’m coming with you,” Maggie said.
“Me too,” Norman added, swaying a bit on his feet. Clearly the transformation and the long stressful night had taken its toll on him.
Sam shook his head. “Norman, you need to stay here. You can speak the local lingo. Get the Incas to light a signal fire on the highest ridge so the evac helicopter can find us.” Sam reached to his vest pocket and pulled out the walkie-talkie. “Here. Contact Sykes and get a status report. But more importantly… get Uncle Hank up here ASAP!”
Norman looked worried with the burden of his assignment, but he accepted the walkie-talkie with a slow nod. “I’ll do what I can.”
Sam clapped the photographer on the shoulder, then he and Maggie hurried away, stopping only to collect Sam’s Winchester.
“Be careful!” Norman called to them. “There’s something strange up there!”
Sam didn’t need to be told that. All he had to do was look at the golden viper mounted on the dagger’s hilt in his hand.
Bright sunlight glinted off its sharp fangs.
He shivered. Old words of warning rang in his head: Beware the Serpent of Eden.
Henry trudged toward the collapsed subterranean temple. Even from here, he saw how the crown of the hill had fallen in on itself. Sodium lamps highlighted the excavation on the lee side of the slope, where workers still struggled to dig a rescue shaft into the buried ruins.
As Henry walked, Philip’s litany of the events of the past few days droned on: “… and then the temple started to implode. There was nothing I could do to stop it…” Philip Sykes had come running up to Henry as soon as the professor had cleared the helicopter’s rotors, wearing a smile that was half panicked relief and half shame, like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. Henry ignored his student’s ceaseless explanation. The theme was clear from the start: I’m not to blame!
Henry finally touched Philip’s shoulder. “You’ve done a great job, Mr. Sykes. Considering the circumstances and confusion here, you’ve managed admirably.”
Philip bobbed his head. “I did, didn’t I?” He ate up the praise with a big spoon… and then thankfully grew quiet, content at being absolved for any of the tragedy. Henry, though, knew the student was hiding more than he was telling. Henry had heard the disparaging comments whispered from some of the Quechan workers as they passed. He knew enough of the local Indian dialect to tell that the laborers resented Philip. Henry suspected that if he questioned the workers, a different view of the events of the past few days would come to light… and that Philip would not come out looking so squeaky clean.
But right now, Henry had more important concerns.
He eyed the two guards who flanked them. They no longer brandished their guns, but they kept their hands on holstered pistols. Abbot Ruiz marched ahead of them, wheezing through nose and mouth. The altitude and exertion in climbing through the ruins were clearly taxing the heavy man.
As they finally reached the site where a black tunnel opened into the side of the buried temple, a man dressed in the brown robes of a friar stepped toward them. He was darkly handsome with cold eyes that seemed to take in everything with a sharp glance.
Abbot Ruiz stared hungrily at the tunnel opening. “Friar Otera, how do things fare here?”
The monk remained bowed. “We should reach the temple ruins by noon, Your Eminence.”
“Good. Very good. You have done brilliantly.” He stepped past the bowing man without a glance, dismissing him.
Henry, though, caught the glint of white-hot anger in the monk’s eyes as he straightened, the man’s face settling back to passive disinterest. But Henry knew better. A few words of faint praise were not going to satisfy this man as they had Philip. Closer to him now, Henry noted some Indian features mixed with his Spanish heritage: a deeper complexion, a slightly wider nose, and eyes so deep a brown they seemed almost black. Friar Otera was clearly a mestizo, a half-breed, a mixture of Spanish and Indian blood. Such men had hard lives here in South America, their mixed blood often a mark of humiliation and ridicule.
Henry followed the abbot, but remained attuned to the friar’s movements. He knew he had better keep a close watch. There were dangerous layers to this man that had nothing to do with the abbot’s schemes. Henry noticed how even Philip gave the man a wide berth as the student clambered up the loose soil toward the tunnel opening.
Friar Otera took up a pace behind Henry.
As they reached the excavated tunnel, the sun climbed fully into the sky. The clear blue skies promised a hot day to come.
Suddenly a crackle of static drew their eyes toward Philip. The student reached inside his jacket and pulled free a walkie-talkie. “It must be Sam,” Philip said. “He’s early.”
Henry stepped nearer. His nephew had said he would contact base around ten o’clock. The call was a few hours ahead of schedule.
“Base here,” Philip said, lips pressed to the receiver. “Go ahead, Sam.”