Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

“If you were standing on the platform at the place of Qolqa in two days’ time, you’d look for it between the two mountain ranges. All the other stars would be in the right place. But Cygnus wouldn’t be anywhere to be seen. It would be about thirty degrees off course, hidden behind the moon.”

“So that’s the end of it!” Richard exclaimed. “Salamanda stole the diary and tried to kill Matt for nothing. It doesn’t matter how rich or powerful he is. There’s nothing he can do. He can’t move a star.”

“There are too many stars,” Matt said.

“What?”

“It’s what the old man said. The birds fly in the wrong places and there are too many stars in the night sky. That was how he knew the gate was going to open.”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong with the first part,” Richard agreed.

“But why did he say there were too many? Professor Chambers says there’s one star too few!”

Nobody spoke. The gardener, a cheerful man in a straw hat, had finished mowing the lawn. Now he had disappeared behind the bushes but they could hear the snapping of his shears as he trimmed the leaves.

“St Joseph of Cordoba predicted that the second gate would open on Inti Raymi,” Richard said. Professor Chambers leant over and began to translate quietly for Pedro. “Perhaps he was here with the conquistadors. He somehow discovered the secret of the lines and it drove him mad. Salamanda stole the diary because he wanted to know the secret. And he hasn’t given up! He’s chased Matt all over Peru because he’s afraid of him. There must be something he knows that we don’t.”

“Que hacia el pajaro en su sueno?” Pedro asked.

“He’s asking – what about the bird in your dream?” Professor Chambers translated. “What does he mean?” she asked.

“I was going to tell you,” Matt said, “but I didn’t because I wasn’t sure if it was part of it. It’s true. I’ve been having bad dreams about a swan.”

“God! I’m an idiot…” Professor Chambers closed her eyes for a moment. “Cygnus,” she said. “That’s Latin…”

Everyone looked at her.

“…for swan.” Richard completed the sentence.

The professor held up a hand for silence. Matt could see the thought processes going through her head. Her blue eyes had never been more alive. At last, she looked up.

“Listen,” she began, “I thought the lines were a warning, but suppose I was only half right. Let’s imagine they were something more than that. You came to Peru looking for a gate. We still don’t know where it is. But if it’s closed, there must be something that keeps it closed.”

“You mean… a sort of lock?” Matt said.

“That’s right. And if so, why can’t it be a combination lock?”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. Think of the Nazca Lines as a fantastic time lock. They sit there, keeping the gate closed. That’s why they were built. Only when the stars form the right patterns, only then will the gate open and the Old Ones be free. That’s how it works.”

“But the whole purpose of the gate was that it should never open,” Richard said.

“That’s right,” Professor Chambers said again. “Which is why the gatekeepers made sure that the stars would never align. But two nights from now, they’ll come close. In fact, it’s as close as they’ll ever get. Just one star is going to be missing…”

“And Salamanda is going to replace it!” Matt interrupted. “When I was in his house, I heard him talking.” It was all coming back to him. “He said something about a silver swan. There were co-ordinates. He had to move it exactly into position.”

He stopped. Suddenly the answer was obvious.

“A satellite,” he said.

“Exactly,” Professor Chambers agreed. “Salamanda launched a new satellite just one week ago. It’s been in the newspapers. Everyone knows. And what he’s going to do is position it exactly where Cygnus ought to be. An artificial star instead of the real one. The satellite will complete the pattern of light. The time lock will be activated. And…”

“And the gate will open,” Matt said.

“We can stop him!” Richard said.

The professor shook her head. “I don’t see how. The satellite’s already in space. Salamanda will be controlling it by radio. If we knew the frequency, perhaps we might be able to jam the signal but we’d have to get our hands on the right equipment and I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Anyway, the transmitter will be at the SNI compound at Paracas and we could never get in.”

“Where is Paracas?” Matt asked.

“Not too far from here. That makes it perfect for Salamanda. It’s on the coast, about three hundred miles north.”

“Can we go and see it?”

“We can drive there. But I’ve gone past it a couple of times, Matt – and I’m telling you. You’d need a small army to break in.”

Salamanda’s Research and Telecommunications Centre at Paracas was a couple of miles inland, a hi-tech compound surrounded by desert. Not one but two fences surrounded it. The first was ten metres high, with razor wire stretched across the top. The second carried bright yellow signs that warned would-be trespassers in three languages. The outer fence was electrified. The space in between was patrolled, day and night, by guards with dogs. Two watchtowers looked over the desert, one at each corner. The only way in was through a gate that slid open electronically to allow vehicles to pass, and there was a control room and a barrier that was only raised once every driver had been checked.

The compound itself consisted of a cluster of low, ugly buildings of red brick with panels of mirror glass. The scientists and staff might be able to look out but nobody could look in. A radio mast loomed overhead, standing on metal legs with satellite dishes turned towards the sky. The building closest to it was also the most modern, with a glass dome at the centre of the roof but no windows at all. This appeared to be the control centre.

Three lines of identical, whitewashed houses stood at the perimeter. They were also built of brick but looked more primitive and Matt suspected that this was where the staff lived. They had been constructed around a rough, concrete square which seemed to double as an eating area and a football pitch. There was even a television on a metal stand, surrounded by wooden benches. Presumably the workers watched TV in the open air in the evenings.

Matt had seen some of them, dressed in grey overalls with the letters SNI printed in red on their sleeves. He had also seen what he assumed were scientists, wearing white coats, as well as others in suits. Salamanda had a fleet of electric cars, little more than golf buggies, to ferry them between buildings. There was also a launch pad with a small, black helicopter in the middle. Armed guards in military dress patrolled the entire compound on foot and mounted security cameras swivelled to take in anyone who passed.

Matt, Pedro, Richard and Atoc were lying on a sand dune some distance away, examining the compound through field glasses that Professor Chambers had found for them. She herself was waiting at Paracas. Atoc had a bandage around his neck and moved slowly – but he had insisted on making the journey with them.

“What do you think?” Richard said.

“Professor Chambers was right,” Matt said. “We’d need a small army to break in here.”

“Yes.” Atoc nodded. “And we have one.”

They arrived with the setting sun. They had heard Matt’s call. It had taken them twenty-four hours to cross Peru, coming by car and by train and now they were here, assembling on the beach at Paracas.

The Incas’ army was about fifty strong, dressed in dark jeans and black shirts, ready for the attack that would take place that evening. But if their clothes were modern, their weapons were not. They had brought with them the arms and armour that their ancestors had used. As deadly as they looked, Matt couldn’t help but think that it seemed a bizarre mix.