Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

They were not intended to make the journey on foot. Another Indian, dressed like Atoc, was waiting for them with four mules. Matt wondered how the animals could bear to be here, so far underground, but he supposed they must be used to it. The Indian bowed low as he approached. Matt smiled, feeling increasingly uneasy.

“Please. We must hurry,” Atoc said.

Matt and Pedro climbed onto the first two mules. Atoc and the Indian took the two behind. There were no saddles, just brightly coloured blankets, tied underneath. Matt had never ridden an animal in his life and wondered how he was meant to make this one go. But the mule knew what it was doing. The moment all four of them had mounted, it set off at a fast pace, its hooves thudding rhythmically on the soft, earth-covered floor.

One after another, the flickering oil lamps lit their progress. Nobody spoke. Matt noticed that some of the gold panels had designs beaten into them: faces and warrior figures bristling with weapons. After a while, the passage widened and they passed countless treasures, lined up against the walls: jars and pitchers, cups and trays, idols and funeral masks – many of them made of silver and gold. He wondered how long it would take them to reach wherever they were going. The fact that he had no idea of their destination only made the journey seem longer. And it was almost impossible to measure the passing of time. All he knew was that they were climbing. The path had been sloping upward almost from the start, but he was sure they were getting no closer to the surface. So they must be heading out of Cuzco, into the mountains. That was the only possible explanation.

After at least one hour and possibly as much as two, they suddenly stopped. Despite everything, Matt had been drifting into sleep and he was nearly thrown right over the animal’s head. His legs were sore from constantly rubbing against the coarse hair. And he had added the smell of mule to the many other smells he had picked up since Lima.

“We walk from here,” Atoc said.

They all dismounted, leaving the animals with the other Indian who had never spoken, not even to tell them his name. Matt assumed that there must be another exit from the tunnel, some other way to bring the mules into the open air. Ahead of them was another narrow staircase and a lever set in the wall. Atoc raised a finger to his lips and pulled the lever. Matt heard a slight creaking, the turning of a wheel, and guessed that the mechanism being used was similar to the one that had first opened the wall and let them in.

Atoc waited a moment, listening. Somebody whistled, two single notes that sounded like a bird. At once, he relaxed. “We can go up,” he said.

They began to climb. Matt could see a circle ahead of him, lit by a white light that seemed to hang in the far distance. Some sort of tattered curtain hung down. It was only as he passed through that he realized that this was the mouth of a cave, surrounded by foliage, and that the light was the full moon. And then he was back out in the open, on a hillside high above Cuzco, with two more Indians in ponchos bowing at him, just like the man in the tunnel.

Pedro joined him and they saluted him too. Then Atoc appeared. Matt looked back. There was a round hole in the ground, the entrance to a cave. But it only ran a couple of metres. The back wall was solid. The steps had disappeared. Matt realized that the lever must have been pulled a second time and some sort of huge boulder had rolled into place. The exit from the tunnel was as impossible to find as the entrance.

So what now?

The two Indians gestured and he followed them away from the edge of the hill and into what looked like the ruin of an ancient football stadium, a theatre, a fortress… or perhaps a mix of all three. There was a flat area, roughly circular in shape, covered by grass and surrounded by gigantic boulders that had been arranged in a zigzagging line. There were three levels to the stadium. Whatever activity had once taken place in the arena could have been witnessed by thousands of people, standing or sitting above. The place was lit by floodlights and there were still twenty or thirty tourists wandering through the ruins. Nobody took any notice of their arrival. They had come out of nowhere and Atoc had made sure nobody had seen them arrive.

“This… Sacsayhuaman,” he told Matt. “Sacsayhuaman means ‘Royal Eagle’ and this place was once a great fortress until the Spanish came. You see the throne of the Inca!” He pointed to the rough shape of a seat that had been cut into the rock on the opposite side. There was a girl in a fleece sitting there, having her photograph taken. Atoc frowned in distaste. “Now we leave,” he said.

There were a few taxis and a single bus parked in a car park on the other side of the ruin. Matt could see a road twisting back down the hill and into Cuzco. But that wasn’t where they were heading. For the second or third time that night, Matt stopped in total amazement. Right in front of them, out of sight behind the Inca throne, a helicopter stood waiting for them with two more Indians on guard, looking out anxiously for any sign of the police. Matt could now see how much organization had gone into finding him. From the moment he had run out of the main square in Cuzco, an invisible net had been drawing in on him, waiting to scoop him out.

“You’re not serious,” Matt muttered.

“We must go long way,” Atoc said.

“Where’s the pilot?”

“I’m the pilot. I fly you.”

There were just four seats in the helicopter, two in the front, two behind. The cabin was little more than a glass bubble in a metal frame, with the rotors hanging limply above. One of the Indians opened the door. Matt hesitated. But wherever they were going, it had to be better than Cuzco. Captain Rodriguez was there, looking for him. The helicopter would take him out of the city. Maybe it would even take him out of Peru.

But before he could move, he heard the sound he had most dreaded. Sirens. The police were on their way, coming to investigate. Someone must have seen the helicopter land. And suddenly there they were, two cars no bigger than toys bouncing up the road, still far below, but getting nearer all the time. Atoc pushed Matt forward. It was definitely time to leave.

But Pedro wasn’t budging. Matt could see how tense he was, his fists clenched, refusing to move. Pedro turned to Atoc and let loose a torrent of Spanish. Atoc tried to reason with him. Matt remembered how he had felt as they took off from Heathrow. He had been sweating. Pedro would never have flown in his life, and to him this helicopter must look like some sort of nightmare, oversized insect.

The police cars were getting closer. Their headlights seemed to be reaching out in front of them, eager to arrive first. Pedro stayed where he was. He pointed at the helicopter and snapped out a few ugly words. Atoc held up his hands – a gesture of surrender – but at the same time he spoke again. His voice was soft despite the urgency. The first police car was perhaps a quarter of a mile away.

At last Pedro turned to Matt. “Tu que piensas?” he asked.

Matt hoped he’d understood. “It’s OK,” he said. “I think we should go.”

Pedro let out a deep breath. He unclenched his fists, ran forward and clambered in. Matt could see how much effort it took. He followed. Atoc climbed into the front seat and punched at the controls. The rotors began to turn.

Matt wondered if they had left it too late. It would be several minutes before the helicopter was ready for take-off. The rotors were turning so slowly that he could see each one. The police cars were so close now that he could make out the men inside. Pedro wasn’t even watching. As the engine began to scream, he went completely white and sat frozen, staring out at the sky. The first police car reached the car park and tore over the gravel, heading towards them. But then its windscreen shattered and Matt saw that the Indian who had opened the door for them was holding a slingshot, like Pedro’s. He had hurled a stone at the car and scored a direct hit. The police car wheeled around and came to a halt. Too suddenly. The second police car smashed straight into it, spinning it round. Both cars stalled and were still.