Page 134

Torres was watching Santiago patiently. Appraising him. Unfortunately, not underestimating him.

With narrowed eyes, Torres added, “But not until after we remove the treasure.”

Shit.

Santiago risked a glance at Ali. For once, she seemed not to know what to do. In fact, she stared back at him with something akin to deference. He realized that it was up to him now.

“Then we have an agreement.”

“Wonderful!” The billionaire clapped his hands. “Then follow me, if you please. No, no, just Sr. Rios, thank you.” He held up a hand as his people tried to follow him. They stalled, shifting uneasily on their feet. Santi wasn’t sure it was out of loyalty. “He won’t try anything stupid, will you now?”

Mario raised his gun back to Ali.

“No.” Santiago meant it.

…

The two men walked to the snake-head boulder.

Up close, it was even larger than he imagined, with an open mouth tall enough to walk through. The structure protruded from the hillside, as if emerging from the earth itself, a snake lunging out of its burrow.

Torres stepped through the opening, absently running a hand over one of the enormous, carved fangs. Santiago shuddered. The inside of the boulder was an almost perfectly rounded cavern, deeper than the cave he and Ali had camped in during their first night in the Andes.

“Say ‘thank you,’ Rios, as I have already done some of your work for you. I spent much of this morning searching the area and found this,” Torres said, his voice nearly giddy with anticipation.

The man kept one hand on the ivory pistol holstered at his side—no doubt assuring that Santiago had seen it. He ran the other over a curved slope of stone in the center of the snake’s mouth, forked at the end like a tongue.

He motioned for Santiago to come have a look. Sunlight cast a diffused glow over the cavern’s entrance, but it was deep enough that he had to squint at where Torres pointed.

Just above the man’s fingers, a recessed notch dug into the stone. Santiago recognized the shape right away. It was a chakana. Just like in the Ransom Room.

“When I first learned of the Guardianes and the ‘key’ to the lost treasure of Atahualpa, I’ll admit that this is precisely the sort of thing I dreamed of.”

Torres caressed the carving.

“A mysterious key to a long-lost tomb,” he continued. “Gold and jewels the likes of which haven’t been seen in generations. You have no idea what these things sell for nowadays, Sr. Rios.”

He looked so reverent. Fear enveloped Santiago like a fog of ice. Perhaps money was this man’s religion?

“Why are you doing this?” Santiago ventured. “Atahualpa and Huáscar are dead. Their sibling rivalry has long passed. You can’t change history. What will any of this prove?”

Torres looked at Santiago with so much shock that he instinctively took half a step back. Then the older man doubled over, supporting his weight against the stone as his body convulsed in laugher.

“Oh, my dear boy.” Torres finally caught his breath. “You don’t truly believe I’m a Huáscaro, do you?”

I mean, kind of? He certainly hadn’t expected a reaction that strong.

Was that not what started all of this?

What perpetuated it?

Santiago had imagined generations of descendants locked in battle. One side organizing to steal Atahualpa’s treasure, and likely desecrate his tomb for good measure, and the other forced to spend their lives—and deaths—making secret pilgrimages to it.

Good old-fashioned greed aside, José said these people were fanatics. And Torres was their leader.

“You’re not a Huáscaro?” Santi asked. “Not even a little?”

That set him off again, and Santiago waited impatiently for the jovial little fiend to quiet.