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Norman reached the folded ridge of volcanic basalt, took a deep breath, then broke from cover and dashed across the open few yards to reach the cover of the ridge. He dived back into the welcome shadows, waiting for bullets to pepper the slope behind him, sure he had been seen. Nothing happened. He leaned a moment on the rough rock. He raised the chunk of volcanic stone, suddenly questioning how smart this was. Before fear could immobilize him, he pushed onward, scuttling like a crab in the shadow of the basalt ridge.

Once he was sure he had gone far enough, he risked a quick peek over the ridge. He was right. The bulk of the helicopter stood between him and the gunman. Norman climbed over the ridge as quietly as possible. The soft scrape of rock sounded explosively loud, but Norman knew it was all in his head. Besides, he was committed. Out in the open.

He ran with the rock clutched to his chest, his heart pounding so loudly that even the Incas at the village could probably hear it. But he made it to the shadow of the helicopter. He knelt and spotted the feet of the two men on the far side. They seemed unaware of his presence.

Crawling under the helicopter, Norman moved around the extra fuel tanks. Strands of quinoa tickled his arms as he sneaked to the far side of the chopper. Ahead, both the professor and the gunman stood, their backs to him. The pair stared toward the jungle. The robed guard exhaled a long trail of smoke.

Holding his breath and biting his lip, Norman slipped free. He could either creep slowly, thus avoiding any obstacles… or simply make a mad dash toward his quarry. But Norman didn’t trust his shaky legs with speed. So he stepped cautiously, placing one foot after the other, edging toward the gunman.

He was only an arm’s length away when all hell broke loose.

Explosions suddenly rocked the valley. The center of the jungle ripped far into the sky, flaming shards raining down.

Norman gasped at the sight, unable to stop his surprised response.

Hearing him, the gunman twisted on a heel and dropped to a crouch.

Norman found himself staring at the business end of a pistol. “Drop it!” the man ordered.

There was no need for words. The rock in Norman’s hand was already falling from his numb fingers.

From the jungles, screams and yells echoed forth. Gunfire rattled like a cupful of teeth.

Over the man’s head, Norman spotted Henry. He wore a look of hopelessness and defeat.

Norman slumped, matching the expression. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

Sam stumbled to a stop when the first explosion tore through the valley. He crouched slightly at the rain of flaming debris. “What the hell—?”

Denal crouched down, too.

Maggie was at Sam’s shoulder, her eyes wide. “They’re attacking the village!”

Sam stayed low. “Uncle Hank would never do that.”

“What if it’s not the professor,” Maggie said. “Maybe someone else saw the signal fires. Thieves. Huaqueros. Maybe even the same bastards who tried to tu

Sam sank to the slope. “What are we going to do?”

Maggie’s eyes were fierce. “Stop them.” She nodded toward where the helicopter rested in the field, half-obscured by a peninsula of jungle. “Take that out, and these thieves aren’t going anywhere. Then call the professor and warn him to come with the police or army.” She turned to Sam. “We can’t let them murder and steal what we found here.”

Sam was nodding with her words. “You’re right. We have to at least try.” He stood up. “I’ll go and reco

“No,” Maggie argued. “We remain together.”

Sam frowned, but Maggie’s expression did not budge.



Even Denal nodded his head. “I go, too.” Sam caught the way the boy glanced up at the tu

Sam stood and surveyed the valley.

Automatic gunfire echoed up from the jungle. Other explosions would occasionally erupt, tossing trees and rocks into the sky. Amidst the weapons fire, whispers of Incan war cries mixed with the screams of the dying. Smoke billowed up and through the jungle.

“Okay,” Sam said. “We all go. But stick together and keep quiet. We’ll sneak to the jungle’s edge and creep as close to the chopper as possible. Find out if there are any guards.”

Maggie nodded and waved him forward.

Sam hurried down the last of the switchbacks and led them through the escarpment of volcanic boulders and scrub bushes. Soon the shadows of the jungle swallowed up the trio. Sam raised a finger to his lips and guided them with hand signals. Within the embrace of the forest, the sounds of warfare grew muffled.

Crouching, Sam picked a path through the foliage. They had to get to the helicopter before the thieves finished subduing the village. Sam prayed that there were some backup weapons in the helicopter. If they were to hold the valley until Uncle Hank got there, they would need their own fire-power.

The shadowy jungle grew brighter ahead. It was the forest’s edge. Sam slowed his approach. Now was not the time to be caught. He signaled the others to hang back. Sam alone crept the last of the way. Just as he was fingering away a splayed leaf of a jungle fern, a familiar voice reached him.

“Leave the boy alone, Otera! There’s no reason to hurt him.”

Uncle Hank!

Sam pulled back the leaf to view the open meadow beyond. The large military helicopter squatted like some monstrous locust upon the field of quinoa. But closer still was a sight that froze Sam’s blood. His uncle stood before a man dressed in a monk’s habit, but the man was no disciple of god. He bore in his right fist a large pistol. Sam, familiar with guns, recognized it as a .357 Spanish Astra. It was a weapon capable of stopping a charging bull—and it was pointed at his uncle’s chest.

Over his uncle’s shoulder, Sam spotted a third member of this party. It was Norman! The photographer’s face was pale with fear.

The man named Otera glared at Sam’s uncle. “Since when are you the one giving orders here?” He suddenly swung his gun and viciously struck Norman across the face. The photographer fell to his knees, blood welling from a cut on his brow.

“Leave him alone!” Uncle Hank said, stepping around to shield Norman.

Otera, his back now slightly turned to Sam, raised his pistol. “I think you’ve outlived your usefulness, old man. From the messages, these students know where the gold is hidden. So with this fellow here, I see no need to keep you around.” Sam distinctly heard the gun cock.

Oh, God! Frantic, Sam slid from his hiding place and ran across the wet field.

The motion drew his uncle’s attention. Henry’s eyes widened in surprise. Sam saw his uncle struggle to stifle any further reaction—but even this small response was noticed.

Otera pivoted around just as Sam reached him, gun at chest level. Sam yelled and leaped at him, then an explosion of gunfire stung his ears. Sam was flung backward, away from his uncle’s captor. He landed in the meadow on his back.

“No!” he heard his uncle yell.

Sam tried to push to his elbows, but he found he could not move. Not even breathe. It felt as if some huge weight sat on his chest. Pain lanced out in all directions. From the corner of his eye, he saw his uncle leap on the back of the robed gunman, tackling and crushing him to the ground.

Sam smiled at the old man’s fierceness. Good for you, Uncle Hank.

Then all went black.

From a couple meters away, Maggie had spotted Sam suddenly burst from his hiding place and out into the open. What was the damned fool doing? She hurried forward with Denal beside her. As she reached Sam’s hiding place, the crack of a single gunshot sounded from beyond the leafy fern.