Rogue Angel 46: Treasure of Lima (18 page)

31

The gold
mine

City of the Sun

It took them nearly half an hour to reach their destination, what appeared to be a mining camp on the outskirts of the city limits near the edge of the cavern wall. Men in little more than loincloths and sandals streamed out of several tunnels carved into the cliff face, carrying baskets full of overburden, or the waste rock left over when digging out a mine. Judging from the size of the pile, it looked as if they had been here for some time.

There were several guards standing around watching the miners, but they didn’t seem too focused on what was going on. The miners appeared to be doing their work, and the guards appeared to be leaving them alone. Annja had the sense the guards were there more to give them something to do rather than to be on alert for any miners who would suddenly stop working and make a run for it.

Since their hands were still tied, Annja and the others were helped down out of the cart one at a time. They were pulled into a rough line, with Marcos and Hugo in front, followed by Claire and then Annja. Satisfied that they were under control, Cuzco led them up a winding path that after several minutes brought them to the opening of another tunnel Annja hadn’t noticed before. Instead of leading to a mining tunnel, this particular entrance led into an oval-shaped cavern whose interior was lit by the fires burning in several braziers situated around the room.

A series of cave mouths were visible in the cavern wall to Annja’s left, their openings covered by doors constructed the same way the jailer’s cart had been, with saplings lashed together in a grid to form cell doors. Given the guards standing by several of the doors, Annja assumed they’d reached what passed for the city jail.

Cuzco and their guards marched them deeper into the cavern. As they drew closer, Annja caught a glimpse of several people standing just inside the doors, watching them approach, but then the guards noticed them as well and used the butts of their spears to force them away from the doors, so Annja couldn’t see who they might be. Angry chatter erupted in the wake of the guards’ actions, however, and while Annja might not be able to understand Quechua, there was no mistaking the language she was hearing. Whoever was in the cells, it was not Dr. Knowles and his team.

They continued deeper into the cavern and suddenly Marcos gave a long, low whistle to catch their attention and then indicated something to their left with a nod of his head. The action earned him a smack but accomplished his purpose; Annja and the rest of them looked in that direction as they moved past.

The first thing she noticed was the life-size statue of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus, cast from solid gold, that stood in the center of the room. Dumped haphazardly around it were several sea chests, some of which had burst open to show their contents. Contents that included gold and silver coins, gemstones, jewelry of all shapes and sizes and more, all of which told Annja what she was looking at.

After more than two hundred years, the Treasure of Lima had at last been found!

In a surprising twist, it was also in the hands of the people who had provided most of it in the first place, the Inca, a situation Annja found rather ironic and amusing.

At the back of the room were two cells that faced each other at a forty-five-degree angle. The cells must have been occupied already, for the guards shouted some orders through the door, most likely telling those inside to move back. Marcos, Hugo and Claire were pushed forward into the first cell, but when Annja moved to join them, a guard took her by the arm and pushed her into the second cell, away from the others.

A tall, wiry, bald-headed man with a grizzled salt-and-pepper beard stepped forward to catch Annja as she stumbled. He steadied her and asked, “Are you all right?”

Annja watched the guards secure the door and walk away. She nodded and stepped back, uncomfortable with being that close to a stranger. She noticed that there were a handful of other people in the cell with them, arrayed in a semicircle behind their leader. She went to thank him and was struck with the recognition of who he was.

“Dr. Knowles?” she asked, a hopeful tone in her voice.

Warily, he replied, “Yes. Do I know you? You look familiar.”

“No, but I know you,” Annja told him. “In fact, I was hired to find you. My name’s Annja Creed.”

Now it was Knowles who smiled with unexpected delight. “You’re the host of that
Chasing History’s Monsters
show. I knew you looked familiar!”

He stuck out his hand and they shook.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a big fan!”

Annja was surprised. “You are?”

“Oh, yes. Anything that popularizes archaeology and therefore helps to bring in funding when it’s time to launch a new expedition somewhere is a very good thing in my book. I could do without some of the supernatural silliness,” he said with a wink, “but you do what you have to in order to keep ratings high, I’m sure.”

If you only knew.

“Are you and your team all right?”

“Fair enough. They’ve had us working in the mines, but we’re getting proper food and water and so far no one has been subjected to any kind of discipline. They even treated Gregor’s fractured wrist.” He pointed to a younger man with a splint on his right arm. “You said you were hired to find me?”

Annja could have kicked herself. How could she be so stupid?

“Yes. I’m sorry, I should have said something right away. When you stopped reporting in, your wife put together a small expedition to search for you. We found the camp you’d set up and the cave you’d been excavating, but by the time we—”

“Excuse me,” Knowles said a little forcefully as he cut into her comments. “Did you say my wife?”

Annja let her comment trail off, puzzled by his reaction. “Yes. Your wife, Claire.”

A cloud seemed to pass over Dr. Knowles’s face. He reached out and grabbed her arm, his anger now evident.

“Is this some kind of joke, Miss Creed? Because if it is, I’m not finding it funny.”

Annja was nonplussed and wasn’t sure what to say. She made no move to pull free, worried about antagonizing him further. She caught his gaze with her own and said carefully, “I’m not joking, Dr. Knowles. I was hired by your wife, Claire, to help find you. She’s across the hall, in the opposite cell.”

Knowles stiffened. “I don’t know who is in that other cell, Miss Creed, but I can assure you it is not my wife. Claire suffered a near-fatal car accident six months ago and has been in a coma ever since due to a traumatic brain injury. Even if she were to regain consciousness, which the doctors tell me isn’t likely, she wouldn’t have the mental capabilities of a five-year-old.”

His voice shook with pain as he said, “I don’t know who you’ve got with you in that other cell, but one thing’s for certain—whoever she is, she isn’t my wife!”

32

Annja couldn’t make heads or tails of what Dr. Knowles was saying. She understood the words, but what they meant was so far outside of what she’d expected him to say that they just weren’t coming together with any type of cohesion.

That was when the clapping started.

Slow, measured claps from the cell across the way.

Annja and Dr. Knowles turned at the same time and stared across the space between them to where Claire stood at the door to the other cell, her hands between the bars and clapping together mockingly. Knowles’s loud voice had apparently carried that far.

Claire stopped clapping and looked at Knowles with what could only be described as derision. “You always were such a dramatist, Richard.”

Knowles stared, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

“That’s her,” Annja said to him softly, so that Claire wouldn’t hear her. “The woman who claims to be your wife.” Annja hadn’t missed the look of recognition that had crossed Knowles’s face a moment ago. “Do you know her?”

“Yes, I know her,” he said through gritted teeth.

As if to prove his point, Claire called, “What’s the matter, Richard. Didn’t expect to see me again so soon?”

Richard grimaced and stepped away from the scene.

“Yes, I know her,” he repeated. He sounded as if he was trying to control his temper. “Her name is Claire Dunham and she’s my former research assistant.” He glanced back at her in disgust before facing Annja again. “I fired her two years ago for pillaging artifacts from my dig and then trying to sell them on the black market. We were in England at the time and she fled the country before Interpol could get ahold of her.”

Claire called across to them, “Come now, Richard, you can’t still be angry at me. It was just a few trinkets. They didn’t sell nearly as well as the treasure I’m going to steal from you this time!”

Annja was furious, both at Claire for deceiving her in the way she had and at herself for not having checked further into Claire’s story. She’d let the other woman lead her around by the nose, all because she’d become overwhelmed by her own desire to find the lost treasure. It would have been bad enough to be overwhelmed with treasure fever, but that wasn’t what was driving her. No, she’d been a victim of her own ego, and that was especially galling.

“My apologies, Dr. Knowles. She had emails that you sent from the dig site, detailed summaries of what you’d accomplished to date—everything looked legitimate.”

Knowles had himself back under control. “It’s not your fault, Miss Creed, so please don’t blame yourself. She must have hacked my email account,” he said. “That’s the only way she could have gotten that information, because the only person it was sent to was my representative from the Science Channel, the expedition’s sponsor.”

He smiled ruefully. “When going after a treasure this big, I’ve found it best to keep my mouth shut.”

All this time Annja had been worried about another group of treasure hunters horning in on their claim and the whole time the enemy was right there with her. How stupid could she be!

Apparently very.

Claire had stopped taunting them and was deep in conversation with her two underlings. Annja didn’t trust any of them anymore and vowed to keep an eye on them. She assumed the three of them were discussing how to get out of this mess, as none of them were the type to sit down and accept the status quo without fighting back. If Marcos and Hugo could get their hands on some weapons, Annja had no doubt that they’d shoot first and ask questions later.

Annja also knew that any plan Claire came up with would no doubt not include her or Dr. Knowles and his team. That meant she would need to be ready to act at the same time Claire did or they’d be left behind to deal with the aftermath of Claire’s escape, which could be anything from increased security to reprisals against the remaining prisoners.

She had no intention of letting that happen.

A quick examination of the cell door showed her that it was merely tied shut with a thick, vinelike cord. A single blow from her sword would take care of it when the time came. They would still have to face the guards outside, never mind an entire city of people who would easily recognize them as foreigners, but she’d work that out when necessary.

One thing at a time.

Worn-out from their long trek and now satisfied that she could get them out of the cell when she needed to, Annja settled down against a nearby wall and tried to relax. Knowles told her his story—how they’d found the treasure and excavated it, how the Inca had swooped in shortly thereafter and taken them, and the treasure, captive. He introduced her to the other men and women in the cell with them, all of whom were part of his dig team. The rest, he explained, were across the hall in the cell with Claire and her hired men, along with the crew of the
Sea Dancer.

Annja told him about her own journey—their encounter with the pirates, the discovery of the empty
Sea Dancer,
the trek to the dig site. They spent some time marveling at the Incan civilization they’d discovered and speculated that perhaps the island’s designation as a World Heritage site had done more to protect the natives’ secret than anything else. It was all conjecture, but Annja hadn’t had the time to sit down and talk with a colleague as experienced as he was in some time and she enjoyed herself, despite their surroundings.

The guards came back about three hours later, escorting two cooks who carried a large stew pot between them. At the first sign of them, the prisoners lined up single file to the left of the door, bowls in hand. Unlike those who’d been here for a bit, Annja didn’t have a bowl, so Knowles handed her his.

“Go on. Eat. I’ll get some when you’re finished.”

The stew was thick with vegetables and meat, most likely boar or something similar based on the taste. Annja didn’t have utensils and had to scoop it into her mouth with her fingers, but everyone else was eating the same way and so she didn’t mind. When she was finished, she handed the bowl to Knowles, who was just in time to get the last dregs in the pot before the guards took it away.

They talked for a bit longer before Knowles suggested they get some sleep. The guards would stay outside the cave and not bother them until morning, but when the sun came up they were expected to start their shift in the mine and they’d need all their strength to make it through the day.

With thoughts of digging for gold dancing through her head, Annja laid down and tried to get some rest.

* * *

A
NOISE
BROUGHT
A
NNJA
out of her sleep.

She laid still for a moment, eyes closed so as not to give herself away, and listened. She didn’t hear anything at first and then the sound resumed. It was rhythmic, a back-and-forth sawing sound that was coming from the cell across the hall.

Claire!

Annja quietly rose and waited for her eyes to adjust. The braziers had burned down to little more than hot coals, bathing the cavern in a faint red light. Once she was confident she could see the others sleeping on the floor before her, she made her way through them on catlike feet to the door of the cell, where she crouched down and stared across the hall.

She was able to make out the darker shape of someone standing just inside the door to the other cell. The sound was louder here, and when she focused on it Annja could see something flashing dully in a repetitive pattern near the edge of the cell door.

Someone was sawing through the bindings that were holding the cell door shut.

Where had they gotten the knife?

Annja thought about it for a moment and concluded that it must have been hidden on Claire somewhere. The men had both been frisked when they’d been captured but the Incas had left Annja and Claire alone. Cultural blindness, she guessed; women in Incan society did not carry weapons or hold status as warriors.

The knife finally sliced through the rest of the binding holding the door shut and it gave way with a bit of a twang, like a string on a guitar breaking under pressure.

In the stillness of the cavern, the noise seemed unnaturally loud.

She froze, as did the individual across the way, but no one came.

After a few seconds the door to the other cell creaked open and Claire stepped out into the dimly light cavern. She glanced in Annja’s direction but Annja stayed still and Claire looked away.

Annja didn’t think she’d been seen. She watched Claire take a few tentative steps out into the center of the cavern, watched her peer down the hall toward the entrance, and then abruptly do an about-face and slip back into her cell, pulling the door shut behind her.

Annja watched all this in surprise, wondering what was going on. She didn’t have to wait long to get her answer, as she soon noticed the light getting brighter and heard someone approaching. The sound of sandals on stone grew louder until a guard stepped into view.

As quietly as possible, Annja drew back from the door, her gaze never leaving the Incan warrior just beyond.

The guard stood in the center of the cavern, glancing back and forth between the two cells. Annja watched him raise his torch high over his head in an attempt to cast more light on the situation, to no avail. The darkness of the caves must have defeated him for he gave an audible sigh as he stepped over to the door of the other cell, lowering the torch as he did so to help him better see inside.

The light fell directly on Claire, who was standing just inside the cell door.

“Hi,” she said, smiling, and then shoved the door violently forward directly into the guard’s unprotected face.

There was a solid thunk as one of the poles making up the door collided directly with the guard’s forehead, sending him stumbling backward, arms flailing.

Claire was on him in a flash. The torch rolled free and all Annja could see was a dark-shrouded mass that she knew was the two of them atop each other and then an arm rose and fell, rose and fell, and rose and fell again before going still.

Climbing off the guard, Claire retrieved the torch and came back to look at her handiwork. Even from where she stood behind the edge of the door, Annja saw the dark flow of blood draining out of the stab wounds in the man’s neck. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be in a matter of moments.