There were a few taxis and a single bus parked in a car park on the other side of the ruin. Matt could see a road twisting back down the hill and into Cuzco. But that wasn’t where they were heading. For the second or third time that night, Matt stopped in total amazement. Right in front of them, out of sight behind the Inca throne, a helicopter stood waiting for them with two more Indians on guard, looking out anxiously for any sign of the police. Matt could now see how much organization had gone into finding him. From the moment he had run out of the main square in Cuzco, an invisible net had been drawing in on him, waiting to scoop him out.
“You’re not serious,” Matt muttered.
“We must go long way,” Atoc said.
“Where’s the pilot?”
“I’m the pilot. I fly you.”
There were just four seats in the helicopter, two in the front, two behind. The cabin was little more than a glass bubble in a metal frame, with the rotors hanging limply above. One of the Indians opened the door. Matt hesitated. But wherever they were going, it had to be better than Cuzco. Captain Rodriguez was there, looking for him. The helicopter would take him out of the city. Maybe it would even take him out of Peru.
But before he could move, he heard the sound he had most dreaded. Sirens. The police were on their way, coming to investigate. Someone must have seen the helicopter land. And suddenly there they were, two cars no bigger than toys bouncing up the road, still far below, but getting nearer all the time. Atoc pushed Matt forward. It was definitely time to leave.
But Pedro wasn’t budging. Matt could see how tense he was, his fists clenched, refusing to move. Pedro turned to Atoc and let loose a torrent of Spanish. Atoc tried to reason with him. Matt remembered how he had felt as they took off from Heathrow. He had been sweating. Pedro would never have flown in his life, and to him this helicopter must look like some sort of nightmare, oversized insect.
The police cars were getting closer. Their headlights seemed to be reaching out in front of them, eager to arrive first. Pedro stayed where he was. He pointed at the helicopter and snapped out a few ugly words. Atoc held up his hands – a gesture of surrender – but at the same time he spoke again. His voice was soft despite the urgency. The first police car was perhaps a quarter of a mile away.
At last Pedro turned to Matt. “Tu que piensas?” he asked.
Matt hoped he’d understood. “It’s OK,” he said. “I think we should go.”
Pedro let out a deep breath. He unclenched his fists, ran forward and clambered in. Matt could see how much effort it took. He followed. Atoc climbed into the front seat and punched at the controls. The rotors began to turn.
Matt wondered if they had left it too late. It would be several minutes before the helicopter was ready for take-off. The rotors were turning so slowly that he could see each one. The police cars were so close now that he could make out the men inside. Pedro wasn’t even watching. As the engine began to scream, he went completely white and sat frozen, staring out at the sky. The first police car reached the car park and tore over the gravel, heading towards them. But then its windscreen shattered and Matt saw that the Indian who had opened the door for them was holding a slingshot, like Pedro’s. He had hurled a stone at the car and scored a direct hit. The police car wheeled around and came to a halt. Too suddenly. The second police car smashed straight into it, spinning it round. Both cars stalled and were still.
The doors opened and uniformed men tumbled out, pulling guns from their holsters. The two Indians next to the helicopter turned and ran. Matt wondered what would happen next. They were sitting targets. The rotors still weren’t turning fast enough. He glanced round and saw the tourists diving for cover. One of the policemen took aim.
But the rotors had finally picked up speed. Suddenly the dust rose in a cloud. The policemen disappeared from sight and Matt guessed they must have been blinded. Pedro cried out. The entire cabin had rocked as Atoc played with the controls. Then he pushed forward and the helicopter lurched into the air, hovered for a moment, then spun round and flew into the moonlight. Behind them, the great stones of Sacsayhuaman quickly shrank away.
The policemen cursed and rubbed grit out of their eyes. By the time they were able to look up, the helicopter had gone.
Anthony Horowitz
Evil Star
THROUGH THE CLOUD FOREST
There was no view. As the helicopter droned on through the night, Matt was as disoriented as he had been when he first entered the wall. The lights of Cuzco had long since faded behind them and for a time the moon had been their only guide. But even that had disappeared, swallowed up by clouds so thick, it was hard to believe they could actually float in the air. Atoc remained clamped over the controls, his face lit by a soft, green light. The helicopter blades thudded in the air, although sometimes Matt had the impression that they weren’t moving at all, but were somehow stuck in the gluey stillness of the night.
Pedro hadn’t spoken a word since take-off. Nor had he looked out of the window. His whole body was rigid, his eyes fixed on the pilot as if he couldn’t believe he knew how to fly this machine – or that he might forget at any time. Eventually he fell asleep and Matt must have followed him because suddenly he was back at sea, making an altogether different journey, drifting with the tide.
“Do you still think I’m one of the Five?” Pedro asked.
“Of course.” Matt was surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m a stupid coward. I was too scared to get into the helicopter. I almost got us caught by the police. I’m still scared now, even though I’m asleep.”
Matt shook his head. “You’re not a coward,” he said. “If you want the truth, I’m afraid of flying too.”
“I saw planes flying out of Lima. When I was doing my juggling, near the airport. I could never understand how anything so heavy could fly. I still don’t.” Pedro scowled. “You really think I’m one of the Five?”
“I know you are. And I’m glad you’re with me, Pedro. When I think about it, I’ve never had a real friend. Not for as long as I can remember.”
“I stole your watch!”
“You’re welcome to it. I’ll get another…”
They both woke at the same moment. The helicopter had landed.
Matt looked out of the window while Pedro stretched and yawned. They had come to a halt in a field in the middle of nowhere. Three oil lamps had been laid out on the grass – Atoc would have been able to see them from the air and had used them to know where to land. But there were no other lights anywhere. Instead, the flames illuminated a line of trees, the edge of what must be thick jungle. A hand slapped against the helicopter window and Matt started, but Atoc had been expecting it.
“Is all right… Friends,” he said.
There were two more Indians waiting for them outside. One opened the door and helped the boys to climb down. They were both wearing ponchos and woven hats and kept their heads down as if unwilling to meet their eyes. It was cold outside the helicopter, much colder than it had been in Cuzco, and Matt wondered if they had climbed to an even greater altitude. He breathed in. Very little oxygen made its way to his lungs. They were obviously high up. But where? The second Indian hurried forward, holding out ponchos for Pedro and him. They were beautifully woven, with gold thread forming intricate patterns against a dark-green background. Matt slipped his head through the hole in the middle and let the rich material hang around him. He was surprised how effectively the poncho protected him from the chill.
“We stay here tonight,” Atoc said. “Travel tomorrow in the light.”
“Where are we?” Matt asked.
“This place… Vilcabamba.” The answer left him none the wiser. “We are in cloud forest,” Atoc went on. “Tomorrow we must walk for many hours. Not possible to go in helicopter.”