Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

Some of the Incas wore padded cotton jackets. Some had helmets made from wood that was pitch black and as hard as iron. Some carried wooden shields covered with deerskin and many of them had clubs with a strange, star-shaped head made of stone. This was the macana, a favourite weapon of the ancient Incas. One blow could crack open a skull or fracture a limb.

There were other weapons too. Matt saw spears, slingshots and halberds – which were a combination of spear, hook and axe at the end of a long pole. A few of the Incas carried bolas, three copper balls tied together on leather cords. Thrown at a man’s neck, they would swing round and strangle him, perhaps knocking him senseless at the same time.

Professor Chambers had watched the arrival in silent astonishment. The soldiers were all physically similar – more Indian than Peruvian. And their weapons were instantly recognizable. She sat down heavily on a rock and began to fan herself. A crab scuttled in front of her and she nudged it away.

Fifty men stood silently on the sand with the silver waves breaking behind them. A few pelicans eyed them warily, sitting on a broken jetty. A flamingo took fright and hurried away. There was nobody else in sight. Perhaps they knew what was happening here. Perhaps they had been warned to stay out of the way.

Atoc had told the men what they had to do, speaking in their own language. Now he turned to Matt. “We are ready,” he said. “You stay here with Pedro, the professor and your friend. We return when job is done.”

“No.” Matt didn’t know what he was saying. Or rather, he didn’t know why he was saying it. A couple of weeks ago, in England, he hadn’t even wanted to come to Peru. But since then, everything had changed. Every fibre of his being told him that he couldn’t let the Incas take on his fight alone. “I’m coming with you, Atoc. I started this and I want to be there at the end.”

“Yo tambien,” Pedro said.

Atoc hesitated for a moment. But he could see something in Matt’s eyes that hadn’t been there before and slowly he nodded. “We will obey you,” he said. “For it is true, as the amauta said. You were sent to lead…”

“Then it looks like I’m coming too,” Richard said.

Matt turned to him. “You don’t have to, Richard. You can stay with the professor.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Richard sighed. “I told you back in York – my job is to look after you and that’s what I’m going to do. All the way to the bitter end.”

“Then let’s do it,” Matt said.

He raised a hand. And from that moment he was in command, the head of an army that had assembled to do what he asked.

Salamanda’s compound lay ahead.

As one, they set off to do battle.

The night of Inti Raymi had arrived.

Darkness had already fallen as the Incas took their positions, stretching out in a long line across the sand in front of the compound. Matt couldn’t believe he was with them. A thousand years before, the Inca army had swept across South America: fast, merciless and unstoppable. Now their descendants were at war again and they were here because he and Pedro had called them. Pedro was right in the middle of them, next to Atoc. He didn’t look afraid. Anyone watching might have thought he was in command. Matt hardly recognized him as the beggar boy he had met in the streets of Lima. With every minute that passed, Pedro was becoming more like the figure he had seen on the gold disc – Manco Capac, the first lord of the Incas.

The razor-tipped wire of the perimeter fence loomed up in front of them. Atoc gave a signal, lowering his palm towards the sand and at once everyone dropped to their knees. It was ten o’clock at night but the compound was still active, with lights burning in many of the buildings and the occasional vehicle crossing from one side to the other, its engine whining like an oversized mosquito.

Atoc pointed at the radio mast and spoke quietly in his own language. Matt understood what he was saying. This was the primary target. Once the transmitter fell, Salamanda would be unable to control his satellite – his silver swan. Matt glanced upwards. Already the stars were appearing in the night sky. He could see them twinkling over the mountains, falling into positions that had been dictated for them twenty-six thousand years ago. But one of them was a fake, a ton of aluminium and steel, sneaking in to complete a deadly combination. Which one of them was it? Matt thought he could see a pinprick of light moving faster than the others – but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that the swan was up there, just as it had been in his dream, and that, unless they stopped it, it would soon be in place.

Two of the Incas shuffled forward and took up positions closer to the wire, crouching on one knee. They were each holding a spear, a three-metre length of wood whose point had been hardened in flames. Silently, they waited. Atoc took one last look around, then nodded. The two Incas ran a few paces and threw the spears, aiming upwards. Matt was astonished by their strength and precision. The spears flew into the night, rising above the compound. There were two soft thuds and, high up in the watchtowers, two guards turned and crumpled. One disappeared from sight. The other slumped forward and was still, his head and arms draped over the side. The spear had gone straight through him.

The attack had begun – but they still had to get inside the compound, and that meant passing through the electronic gates. Atoc signalled a second time and a low, open-backed truck covered in tarpaulin rolled up to the security barrier. The driver – bored and unshaven – leant out of the window and hooted as if he was in a hurry to get home. Three guards, all of them armed, came out to meet him. They were moving warily. Matt guessed that they would have been told to allow nobody in. Not tonight. The entire compound would be on a state of alert.

“Quien es usted? Que desea?”

The words sounded faint and distant. The driver muttered something, but so quietly that the first of the guards had to lean into the cabin to hear what he said. It was a mistake. Matt saw a hand lash out, clutching the guard around the neck. At the same time, the tarpaulin was thrown back and two figures leapt out, each swinging a club with a star-shaped head. A second later, all three guards were unconscious or dead. The driver raised a hand towards Atoc.

“Here we go,” Richard whispered.

Matt nodded. It was incredible to think of these age-old weapons being used to storm a twenty-first-century research centre, but so far the Incas had proved themselves to be effective – and deadly.

The entire line of men rose up from the desert floor and began to move forward. At the same time, the men from the truck had slipped into the guard house: the barrier was raised and the electronic gates slid open to let them in. Matt’s mouth was dry. It seemed almost too easy. Was there nobody in the compound keeping a lookout? But the guards in the watch-towers were already dead and – he reminded himself – the Incas were all wearing dark clothes. Even if anyone did happen to be looking, the army would blend into the grey emptiness of the desert. They were silent and just about invisible.

Pedro was the first in. Then came Atoc and the others, spreading out across the roads and walkways, finding shelter against the nearest walls. The compound lay ahead of them and for the moment there was nobody in sight. Only the lights behind the windows and the distant hum of machinery warned them that they were not alone. Richard and Matt were among the last to enter. So they had the clearest view of what happened next.

A group of four Incas ran over to the radio mast and began to climb it. Atoc and the others were covering them, looking out for anyone who might approach. Still nobody knew they were there. But then, at the very last minute, a dead man gave them away. It was the guard in the watchtower who had been shot. Quite suddenly he fell forward, plunged through the air and hit a corrugated roof with a thunderous crash. Nobody moved. Nobody even breathed. Was it possible that such a loud noise could have gone unheard?