Inca Gold (Dirk Pitt 12)

Rodgers gestured at a large plate set on an angle in a wall niche. "This is the third one o

f these things I've seen since we entered. What do you suppose their purpose was?"

Shannon rubbed away the centuries-old coating of dust and saw her reflection on a shining surface.

"Highly polished silver reflectors," she explained. "The same system used by the ancient Egyptians for lighting interior galleries. The sun striking a reflector at the entrance bounced from reflector to reflector throughout the chambers and illuminated them without the smoke and soot given off by oil lamps."

"I wonder if they knew they were paving the way for environmentally friendly technology?" murmured Pitt randomly.

The echoing sound of their footsteps spread ahead and behind them like ripples on a pond. It was an eerie, claustrophobic sensation, knowing they were entering the dead heart of the mountain. The stagnant air became so thick and heavy with moisture it dampened the dust on their clothing. Fifty meters (164

feet) later they entered a small cavern with a long gallery.

The chamber was nothing less than a catacomb, honeycombed with crypts hewn into the walls. The mummies of twenty men, wrapped tightly in beautifully embroidered woolen mantles, lay head to toe.

They were the mortal remains of the guards who faithfully guarded the treasure, even after death, waiting for the return of their countrymen from an empire that no longer existed.

"These people were huge," said Pitt. "They must have stood two hundred and eight centimeters or six foot ten inches tall."

"A pity they aren't around to play in the NBA," muttered Giordino.

Shannon closely examined the design on the mantles. "Legends claim the Chachapoyas were as tall as trees."

Pitt scanned the chamber. "One missing."

Rodgers looked at him. "Who?"

"The last man, the one who tended to the burial of the guardians who went before."

Beyond the gallery of death they came to a larger chamber that Shannon quickly identified as the living quarters of the guardians before they died. A wide, circular stone table with a surrounding bench rose out of the floor that formed their base. The table had evidently been used to eat on. The bones of a large bird still rested on a silver platter that sat on the smoothly polished stone surface along with ceramic drinking vessels. Beds had been chiseled into the walls, some still with woolen covers neatly folded in the middle.

Rodgers caught sight of something bright lying on the floor. He picked it up and held it under the light of the Coleman.

"What is it?" asked Shannon.

"A massive gold ring, plain, with no engravings."

"An encouraging sign," said Pitt. "We must be getting close to the main vault."

Shannon's breath was coming in short pants as the excitement mounted. She hurried off ahead of the men through another portal at the far end of the guardians' living quarters that led into a cramped tunnel with an arched ceiling, similar to an ancient cistern wide enough for only one person to pass through at a time. This passageway seemed to wind down through the mountain for an eternity.

"How far do you think we've come?" asked Giordino.

"My feet feel like ten kilometers," Shannon answered, suddenly weary.

Pitt had paced the distance they'd traveled down the stone steps since leaving the crypts. "The peak of Cerro el Capirote is only five hundred meters above sea level. I'd guess we've reached the desert floor and dropped twenty or thirty meters below it."

"Damn!" Shannon gasped. "Something fluttered against my face."

"Me too," said Giordino with obvious disgust. "I think I've just been garnished with bat vomit."

"Be happy he wasn't of the vampire variety," joked Pitt.

They descended along the tunnel another ten minutes when Shannon suddenly stopped arid held up a hand. "Listen!" she commanded. "I hear something."

After a few moments, Giordino said, "Sounds like someone left a tap on."

"A rushing stream or a river," Pitt said softly, recalling the old bartender's words.