Why had Micos sent them here? There didn’t seem to be any reason and Matt wasn’t prepared to waste any of their money paying to get in.
Even so, he lingered around the entrance and listened as the tour organizers delivered the same lecture to each group of tourists. Coricancha was the ancient word for “golden courtyard”. There had once been a great temple with four thousand priests living here. Every wall had been lined with plates of solid gold and the rooms had been filled with statues and altars… also gold. It had been used as a religious centre and also a celestial observatory by the Incas. But then the conquistadors had come. They had taken everything. They had melted down the gold, ripped out the altars and built their own church on the ruins that remained.
Would Fabian bring them here on Friday night, Matt wondered? Was there a chance that Richard might turn up? A guard walked out of the entrance and gestured at Matt and Pedro to move away. Pedro muttered something ugly and guttural in Spanish and tugged at Matt’s sleeve. Matt understood. The guard thought they were trying to beg from the tourists. They had no place here. Poor people in Cuzco really had no place anywhere.
As the evening drew in, they walked back to the square and sat on the long step between the cathedral and the fountain. Matt wondered what Pedro was thinking about. He had tried to explain that Fabian was coming, but he wasn’t sure how much the other boy had understood.
At last, the darkness came and with it Cuzco was transformed into something almost magical. Matt had noticed how strange the light was by day. At night, the sky became a luminous blue with the mountains stretching out, deep black, below. Thousands of orange lights sparkled in the outlying suburbs and streetlamps glowed all around the square. After the heat of the day, the evening was cool. The restaurants were filling up, the pavements packed with people in no hurry to go anywhere, like extras on some huge, open-air stage.
The police car entered the square just after nine o’clock. Matt noticed it first: a low, white vehicle with a blue and yellow stripe and a strip light mounted on the roof. There were two men inside. He watched the car as it cruised slowly along the far side and parked in front of one of the money-changing shops. The two men didn’t get out.
He thought nothing of it. There were police everywhere in Cuzco, just as there had been in Lima. It seemed that their main job was to keep the tourists happy. Tourism must be worth millions to the Peruvian economy. They had to feel safe.
But then a second police car joined the first and he began to grow uneasy. They couldn’t be looking for him! Apart from Fabian, nobody knew they were there. Pedro nudged him, glancing in the direction of the second car. The expression on his face was clear. The police in this country were bad news. The two of them had been moved on plenty of times throughout the day and Matt had no doubt that he and Pedro could be arrested just for sitting here. What was the time? Surely it must be getting close to ten o’clock. He wished Pedro hadn’t stolen his watch.
Two police cars. More policemen on foot. They were entering the square from all sides, moving slowly, seemingly with no particular purpose. What was going on? Pedro was becoming more and more agitated. There was something animal-like about him now. His eyes were wide and alert. Every muscle in his body seemed to be locked. He was sensing danger, even if he hadn’t seen it yet.
“I think we should move,” Matt said.
He didn’t want to go. Fabian would arrive any minute now. If he could wait just a few minutes longer, the whole ordeal might be over. And getting up, walking, might draw attention to himself. Every fibre of his being screamed at him to stay where he was. While he was sitting down, unnoticed, he was safe. But at the same time, there were more than a dozen policemen in the square now, fanning out, all of them armed. Had the police come by coincidence or did they know Matt was here? Was this just another raid, or were they looking for him?
The question was answered in an instant as the passenger door of one of the police cars opened and a man got out. It was Captain Rodriguez. He was standing directly under a streetlamp and it cast a glow across his face with its rough, pitted skin and heavy moustache. He looked like a boxer stepping into the ring and as his eyes swung across the square, Matt knew without any doubt at all that his phone call to Fabian had been intercepted and that he had walked straight into another trap.
He stood up, forcing himself not to panic. Rodriguez hadn’t seen him since the Hotel Europa and didn’t know what he looked like now that he was in disguise. There were still plenty of people around. The two of them could just walk away, mingling with the crowd.
Pedro dug his hand into his trouser pocket. When he brought it out, he was holding his rubber slingshot. Matt shook his head.
“Not now, Pedro,” he said. “There are too many of them.”
Pedro frowned, then seemed to understand. He put the slingshot away again.
The scream of a whistle cut through the air.
Suddenly, all the policemen were running towards the two of them as if they had known where they were all along and had simply been playing a game. Another car cut in from behind. Rodriguez was pointing directly at them and shouting. Tourists and travellers stood gaping, afraid, finding themselves caught up in the middle of something they didn’t want to see. The friendly mask of the country they had come to visit had slipped to reveal the brutality beneath. There were armed police everywhere.
Matt saw at once that all four corners of the square were cut off. The trap had closed in from every side. There were two police cars speeding towards them… they would reach them in seconds. That left just one direction – up. The cars couldn’t follow them up the steps. He looked round and saw that Pedro had worked this out for himself. He was already halfway up, heading for a group of Europeans standing together at the top. They’d been about to have their photograph taken in front of the cathedral when the police raid began but now they were just staring out, slack-jawed. Matt saw Pedro barge through them. Why? He glanced back and understood. Some of the policemen had taken out their guns. Pedro had seen the danger, but at the same time he had guessed that they weren’t going to fire anywhere near tourists. His move had been quite calculated. He was using the Europeans as a human shield.
Matt joined him, clambering up the last five steps and then across the top, next to the cathedral. The tourists scattered. Someone cried out. Pedro was moving like the wind and Matt wondered if he would be able to keep up. Already he had discovered something he had suspected all along. It was almost impossible to run in Cuzco. The air was too thin. He couldn’t have been going for more than half a minute and his head was pounding, his throat was sore and he felt as though he was about to faint. He forced himself on, not wanting to be left behind. Pedro was one of the Five. Matt couldn’t lose him now.
But Pedro was looking out for Matt. As a policeman swung around the corner, he shouted out a warning. Matt ducked low. There was an explosion and one of the stone steps spat dust. They were shooting at him! Matt felt a tremor of disbelief. Rodriguez had given orders to take him dead or alive.
The gunshot had been a mistake. Now everyone in the square was panicking, running in all directions, desperate to get away. For a moment, the police found themselves powerless. The boys were out of sight. Then something strange happened. The policeman who had fired the shot threw himself backwards and lay sprawling. Matt twisted round and saw that the slingshot was in Pedro’s hand. He certainly knew how to use it. The policeman had been standing in front of a road that was otherwise unguarded. Matt forced some air into his lungs and set off.