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There was a flurry of movement. The trees overhead rustled and shook, raining down leaves as dozens—if not hundreds—of birds exploded from the safety of their perches. Brush and undergrowth twitched and shook as ground animals were frightened out of hiding.

The shot was also effective at startling Flores into action. His body jolted, but it seemed to break him out of his terror, and he was able to make it the rest of the way across.

“Now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Torres asked, flashing them all a grin. “Who is next?”

Somehow, they made it across without further incident. Santiago dissociated for most of his turn, refusing to look anywhere but his shoes. One foot in front of the other. He was so focused that when the straw beneath him changed to stone on the other side, it took a moment to convince his hands to let go of the rope.

When he allowed himself to look up, the lost tomb of Atahualpa was directly before him.

Maybe it was the exhaustion or the terror, but Santiago didn’t think so. He was pretty sure that, no matter how he’d ended up in front of this marvel, it would have brought a tear to his eye. He wiped it away quickly, hoping no one noticed.

The temple towered over them, larger than most buildings of its time. However, it was undeniably Incan, with pillow-faced architecture and an obvious integration with the natural landscape.

“Obvious” because, as Santiago drew closer, it became apparent that the temple was built straight into the mountain. So much so that its volume was only partially visible. There was a large, square entrance in the center of the front-facing wall, with two sculptural reliefs framing either side.

Both were geometric patterns, depictions of the sun. Santiago could conduct a months-long field study on those reliefs alone.

“This is unbelievable,” he whispered, breath hitching in his throat. His chest was filled with a glittering warmth, like the Ransom Room but ten times over.

How many of his ancestors had journeyed there? Had Abuelo Manco stood in this very spot?

“Yes, yes, remarkable.” Torres tapped his designer loafers against the stone. “But I’m far more interested in what lies inside.”

He regarded Flores with disgust. “Stay out here on guard,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to get frightened.”

Flores grimaced but settled into position.

Then, with Rodriguez and Garcia once again leading their group, the rest of them stepped inside Atahualpa’s missing tomb.

47

The interior of the temple looked much like Santiago had expected, and it was still somehow beyond anything he could have imagined.

He had always wanted to be precisely where he was right now. To witness firsthand the discovery of a new archeological site. He had imagined, countless times, uncovering an old fortress or a small village. Some previously unearthed sliver of the past.

And yet, even in his wildest daydreams, his discoveries had been…in ruins. Ancient relics. Buildings and remnants of cultures so old that they had broken and decayed, been ravaged by time. He could never have imagined finding a temple in such pristine condition.

The architecture remained undeniably Incan, with the same square stone bricks piled neatly atop one another. And Santi remained struck by the ingenuity of constructing such sturdy marvels without mortar.

The temple’s entry room looked similar to the interior of Atahualpa’s Ransom Room, which made sense. The Ransom Room had once been part of Atahualpa’s palace, after all, so it would stand to reason that his followers wanted to construct something they knew he would be pleased with. It was, however, much larger than the Ransom Room, with a ceiling almost twice as high. The notched hexagonal windows that outlined the space were functional, allowing sunlight to stream in and illuminate everything from above.

Vines crept through some of the openings, snaking down and stretching across the walls, the only indication that the monument had been touched by time and the enveloping wilderness around it. It was a miracle that the temple wasn’t completely overrun by vegetation; it should have been swallowed up by the forest long ago.

More magic? Santiago wondered. He may never know.

On either side of the room were six enormous pillars, both taller and wider than Santiago himself. Each was carved differently, but Santi couldn’t tell exactly what they were.

Some had faces that appeared human, others more animal-like. Some held weapons; others bore sigils that he didn’t recognize. Were they effigies of deities? Previous Incan emperors? Guardians? The answer, like so many others, remained to be solved.

Santiago was in a dream.

At the far end of the room was a solitary door, leading deeper into both the temple and the mountain.

No one spoke, the weight of where they were robbing them all of voice.

Eventually, it was Torres who interrupted the silence.

“We need to do this right. I don’t want any mistakes keeping me from my gold,” he declared. “Ramos, Delgado, watch them.” He indicated toward Santiago and Ali. “The rest of you, check the room. If it’s clear, we move to whatever comes next.”