Clive Cussler - Inca Gold

On the island of treasure, Micki Moore busily catalogued and recorded descriptions of the pieces while Henry measured and photographed them. They had to work quickly. Amaru was driving the military engineers to remove everything in a hurry, an effort that reduced the small mountain of golden antiquities at an incredible rate. What had taken the Incas and Chachapoyas six days to cache inside the mountain, modern equipment was about to remove in ten hours.

She moved close to her husband and whispered, "I can't do this."

He looked at her.

Her eyes seemed to reflect the gold that gleamed under the bright lights brought in by the engineers. "I don't want any of the gold."

"Why not?" he asked her softly.

"I can't explain," she said. "I feel dirty enough as it is. I know you must have come to feel the same. We must do something to keep it out of Zolar's hands."

"Wasn't that our original intent, to terminate the Zolars and hijack the treasure after it was loaded aboard the aircraft in the Altar Desert?"

"That was before we saw how vast and magnificent it is. Let it go, Henry, we've bitten off more than we can chew."

Moore turned thoughtful. "This is one hell of time to get a conscience."

"Conscience has nothing to do with it. It's ridiculous to think we could unload tons of antiquities. We have to face facts. You and I don't have the facilities or the contacts to dispose of so large a hoard on the underground market."

"Selling Huascar's chain would not be all that difficult."

Micki looked up into his eyes for a long time. "You're a very good anthropologist, and I'm a very good archaeologist. We're also very good at jumping out of airplanes at night into strange countries and murdering people. Stealing priceless ancient art is not what we do best. Besides, we hate these people. I say we work together in keeping the treasure in one piece. Not scattered inside the vaults of a bunch of scavengers hungry for possessions no one else can own or ever view."

"I have to admit," he said wearily, "I've had my reservations too. What do you suggest we do?"

"The right thing," she replied huskily.

For the first time Moore noticed the compassion in her eyes. There was a beauty he had never seen before. She put her arms around him and gazed into his eyes. "We don't have to kill anymore. This time we won't have to crawl back under a rock when our operation is finished."

He took her head between his hands and kissed her. "I'm proud of you, old girl."

She pushed him back, her eyes widening as if she remembered something. "The hostages. I promised them we would rescue them if we could."

"Where are they?"

"If they're still alive, they should be on the surface."

Moore looked around the cavern and saw that Amaru was overseeing the removal of the mummies of the guardians from inside the crypt. The Zolars were leaving the caverns as bare as when the Incas found them. Nothing of value was to be left.

"We've got a detailed inventory," he said to Micki. "Let's be on our way."

The Moores hitched a ride on a sled stacked with golden animals being towed up to the staging area. When they came into daylight, they searched the summit, but Loren Smith and Rudi Gunn were nowhere to be found.

By then, it was too late for the Moores to reenter the mountain.

Loren shivered. Tattered clothing was no protection against the cool dampness of the cavern. Gunn put his arm around her to provide what body warmth he had to give. The tiny cell-like chamber that was their prison was little more than a wide crack in the limestone. There was no room to stand up, and whenever they tried to move about to find a comfortable position or to keep warm, the guard shoved his gun butt at them through the opening.

After the two sections of the golden chain had been brought through the passageway, Amaru forced them from the mountain crest down to the little cavity behind the guardian's crypt. Unknown to the Moores, Loren and Rudi had been imprisoned before the scientists made their way out of the treasure cavern.

"We would appreciate a drink of water," Loren told the guard.

He turned and looked at her blankly. He was an appalling figure, enormous, with an entirely repulsive face, thick lips, flat nose, and one eye. The empty socket he left exposed, giving him the brutal ugliness of Quasimodo.

This time when Loren shivered it wasn't from the cold. It was the fear that coursed throughout her half-naked body. She knew that to show audacity might invite pain, but she no longer cared. "Water, you drooling imbecile. Do you understand, agua?"

He gave her a cruel look and slowly vanished from their narrow line of vision. In a few minutes he returned and tossed a military canteen of water into the cave.

"I think you've made a friend," said Gunn.

"If he thinks he's getting a kiss on the first date," said Loren, twisting off the cap of the canteen, "he's got another think coming."

She offered Gunn a drink, but he shook his head. "Ladies first."

Loren drank sparingly and passed the canteen to Gunn. "I wonder what happened to the Moores?"

"They may not know we were moved from the summit down to this hellhole."

"I fear the Zolars intend to bury us alive in here," Loren said. The tears came to her eyes for the first time as her defenses began to crack. She had endured the beatings and the abuse, but now that it seemed she and Gunn were abandoned, the faint hope that had kept her going was all but extinguished.

"There is still Dirk," Gunn said gently.

She shook her head as if embarrassed at being seen wiping away the tears. "Please stop. Even if he were still alive, Dirk couldn't fight his way into this rotten mountain with a division of Marines and reach us in time."

"If I know our man, he wouldn't need a division of Marines."

"He's only human. He would be the last one to think of himself as a miracle worker."

"As long as we're still alive," said Gunn, "and there is a chance, that's all that matters."

"But for how long?" She shook her head sadly. "A few more minutes, a couple of hours? The truth is, we're already as good as dead."

When the first section of chain was dragged into daylight, everyone on the summit stood and admired it. The sheer mass of so much gold in one place took their breath away. Despite the dust and calcite drippings from centuries underground, the great mass of yellow gold gleamed blindingly under the noon sun.

In all the years the Zolars had been practicing the theft of antiquities, they had never seen such a masterwork of art so rich in splendor from the past. No treasured object known to history could match it. Fewer than four collectors throughout the world could have afforded the entire piece. The sight was doubly grand when the second section of chain was pulled from the passage opening and laid beside the first.

"Mother of heaven!" gasped Colonel Campos. "The links are as large as a man's wrist."

"Difficult to believe the Incas had mastered such highly technical skills in metallurgy," murmured Zolar.

Sarason knelt down and studied the links. "Their artistry and sophistication is phenomenal. Each link is perfect. There isn't a flaw anywhere."

Corona walked over to one of the end links and lifted it with considerable effort. "They must weigh fifty kilos each."

This is truly light-years ahead of any other discovery," said Oxley, trembling at the incredible sight.

Sarason tore his gaze away and gestured to Amaru. "Get it loaded on board the helicopter, quickly."

The evil-eyed killer nodded silently and began giving orders to his men and a squad of soldiers. Even Corona, Campos, and Matos pitched in. With help from a straining forklift and plenty of sweat, the two sections of chain were manhandled aboard two army helicopters and sent on their way to the desert airstrip.