Out of sight. That was the key. Matt knew they had to get under cover. They had to find somewhere to hide. Give them a bit of time and maybe they could work out what to do next. Pedro ran through an open gateway leading off the street, signalling at Matt to follow. Matt did just that and found himself in a rough courtyard with patches of grass growing through the rubble and the dust. There was another market here. Stalls, lit by oil lamps, stood haphazardly against the walls. They were open even at this time of the evening and a few backpackers were wandering idly between them, examining the hats and ponchos, rugs, beads and bags on sale. The great mass of the cathedral rose up behind.
The two boys didn’t stop. They came to a second archway and burst out to find themselves in another street. But this time they were not alone.
A very old Indian woman sat facing them, squatting on the pavement with a little pile of handmade jewellery. Her hair hung down in two long pigtails and there was a baby, wrapped in a striped blanket, nestling against her chest. She was looking straight at them and as they stood there, panting, wondering which way to go, she suddenly smiled, showing yellow teeth that were little more than stumps. At the same time, she pointed towards an alleyway that led off behind her.
Matt wasn’t sure what to do. The old woman was behaving as if she knew them. It was almost as if she had been sitting there all evening, waiting for them to come so she could point out the best way. Matt fought to get more air into his system and to keep the dizziness at bay.
“Which way?” he shouted at Pedro.
The old woman raised a finger to her lips. This was no time for a discussion. Once again, she pointed the way. Behind them, they heard shouting. The police had entered the marketplace.
“Gracias, senora,” Pedro muttered. He had decided to believe her.
The two of them ran up the alleyway, disappearing into the shadows that pushed in from both sides. Tattered posters hung on the walls and wooden balconies jutted out over their heads. The street was cobbled and Matt’s rubber sandals were almost torn off his feet as he tried to run.
But was it worth going on? Matt could hear sirens and whistles echoing all over the city and with a heavy heart he knew that he and Pedro were never going to get out of this, no matter how fast they ran. They were two rats in a maze. They could scurry round the streets and passageways of Cuzco until they were exhausted or they could find a building to hide in but it would make no difference. It might take the police all night to find them but they would do it in the end. Cuzco was surrounded by mountains. There was no way out.
Somewhere, just out of sight, another car pulled up. Boots stamped down on concrete. A whistle blew. Even Pedro was beginning to slow down. Sweat was dripping off his face. It would all be over very soon.
The alleyway led to another narrow street with a T-junction at one end. Pedro started towards it but almost at once a blue van came skidding to a halt and three policemen piled out. One of them shouted excitedly into a radio while the other two took out their guns and began moving towards them. Matt didn’t have the strength to move. His heart was about to burst. He could only watch as the two men approached.
And then it happened again.
Another Indian appeared, stepping out of a doorway, pushing a heavy cart laden with food and drink. He was wearing white trousers and a dark jacket but no shirt. Nor did he have any shoes. Long hair hung down, obscuring most of his face. He stopped in the road, completely blocking it and it seemed to Matt that he had acted quite deliberately. He had known they were coming and wanted to give them more time. The policemen began shouting. One of them was trying to push past. The Indian nodded and smiled at the two boys. With renewed strength, they set off the other way.
Something was happening in Cuzco. Someone was trying to help them. First it had been the old woman, now it was the food seller. But who were they? How had they even known that he and Pedro were there? Matt wondered if he was imagining things. And no matter how many people tried to help them, he still couldn’t see how they were going to get away.
They turned another corner and suddenly Matt knew where they were. This was one of the most famous streets in the city. Just a few hours earlier it had been filled with tourist groups and guides; now it was completely empty, lit only by the glow from the sky. One side of the street was lined by old Inca walls, ten metres high. Matt recognized the huge stones, slotted so ingeniously together. Pedro was leaning against one of them, panting for breath.
“Which way?” Matt asked.
Pedro shrugged. Either he was too exhausted to talk or he had come to the same conclusion as Matt. There was no way out so it didn’t matter where they went.
They started forward, slowly, making their way down the deserted street. They could hear shouting all around them, disembodied voices flitting like night creatures, everywhere. Only one thing was certain. Their pursuers were getting closer all the time.
And the street led nowhere. It was blocked by a tall metal gate that had been swung across the end, and locked.
There was no way back. Matt could hear footsteps rushing up behind them and knew that the police were only seconds away. He no longer had the heart to run or to hide. He reached out and rattled the gate. It was too high to climb. Pedro had given up too. He was looking angry and exhausted – the bitterness of defeat obvious in his eyes.
“Amigos!”
The voice came from just behind them. Matt turned. Incredibly, there was a young man standing in the street just a couple of metres away. He was wearing a red-and-mauve poncho, jeans and a woven hat that had flaps hanging down over his ears. He seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
And Matt was sure he knew him. For a strange, unnerving moment, he was sure it was Micos. But Micos was dead. So who…?
“Amigos,” the man repeated. “Come quickly!”
Amigos. It was the one word of Spanish that Matt knew.
Friends.
The man gestured. Matt looked past him and saw an incredible sight. Part of the wall had swung open, revealing a secret door with at least seven sides. It was impossible to imagine the hinge mechanism that had made it work but when the door was closed it would be completely invisible. Matt and Pedro had just walked past it without realizing it was there. Millions of tourists must have done the same. Matt took a step forward. There was a passage inside the wall. He could just make out a narrow corridor but it ended almost at once in total blackness.
“No.” Pedro shook his head. He was afraid.
The man spoke to him quietly and quickly in Spanish, then turned back to Matt. “The police will be here very soon,” he said. “If you want to live, you must trust me. Come now…”
“Who are you?” Matt asked.
The man made no reply and Matt understood. He wasn’t prepared to talk about this, not now. An amazing secret – this hidden door – had been revealed to them. It had to be closed before the police, or anyone else, saw it.
Pedro was looking at him, waiting for him to make a decision. Matt nodded. The two of them stepped inside the wall. The man followed. The door swung shut behind them.
Blackness.
Matt couldn’t hear anything apart from the sound of his own breathing. He stood in pitch darkness and it occurred to him that he could have died – that death might not be so different from this. He had been cut off from the city of Cuzco the moment the wall closed. There was a slight dampness in the air that clung to his skin, but apart from that he felt nothing. He had to force himself not to panic, to avoid the thought that he might just have been buried alive.