“Mainstream archaeologists will tell you the entire building was constructed by the Incas, but anyone who looks at these structures can tell you that is preposterous. If that were true, you’d have to believe the Incas got less proficient at stone masonry as time went on.”
“So what are you trying to say?” Zane asked. “How is that possible?”
Amanda looked at him and said, “Take a guess.”
“I think I know where you’re going,” Brett said. “It’s the whole ancient-alien theory again. They came to earth many millennia ago and passed along their technology. But one thing still bothers me. Why didn’t the subsequent cultures keep using those same methods?”
“We don’t really know,” Katiya said. “Assuming it’s true, we can only guess that at some point the aliens left. And once they left, it’s also possible that the culture that received the technology died out. Then, when the Incas came along, it was as though they had to start all over again.”
Brett nodded. “I guess it’s the same theory that’s used to explain mysterious advances in other parts of the ancient world. Egypt, for example.”
“Speaking of Peru,” Amanda said, “I just remembered something I read in college. It was a footnote in one of my textbooks, and I found it so fascinating that I did some more reading on the Internet.” She looked at Katiya. “Aren’t there supposed to be some sort of alien airstrips in Peru?”
“Yes,” Katiya said. “The Nazca Lines. A series of geoglyphs located about two hundred miles southeast of Lima.”
“Geoglyphs?” Zane asked.
“Sorry.” Katiya smiled. “Think of geoglyphs as large works of art that are etched into the landscape. Most are so large that you can only tell what they are from a higher elevation, such as a nearby mountain or a plane. There are hundreds of them in southern Peru. Most are simple designs and shapes, but there are also some pretty detailed drawings of animals — spiders, monkeys, lizards.”
“I have heard of those,” Zane said. “But what does that have to do with an alien airstrip?”
“Good question. As I said, most of the designs are simple objects. Lines, triangles, squares, that kind of thing. Well, some of those lines look a lot like modern-day airstrips. I’m not a fan of this particular theory, but there is some resemblance.”
“Why aren’t you a fan of the theory?” Zane asked.
Katiya chuckled. “I just can’t get past the fact that the same alien ship that can travel across galaxies would also need to coast to a stop like an airplane. Seems nonsensical to me.”
“I think the animal drawings debunk the whole thing anyway,” Brett said. “Why draw something like—”
Before he could finish, a shout came from the far side of the stream. Osak was standing at a point where the trail disappeared into the jungle, speaking loudly and waving his arms.
Zane frowned. “Maybe it wasn’t the bridge he wanted to show us.”
“He wants us to follow him,” Max said.
“Is something wrong?” Brett asked.
“No,” Max said. “I think he’s found our mountain.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Artur stood quietly on the bridge and watched as the others gathered their belongings. Some were already making their way up the trail. Hoping to buy time, he bent down and fiddled with his pack.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see the red-haired American, Tocchet, coming toward him. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” Artur replied, his eyes moving nervously toward the rucksack. “I was just looking for something.” He patted the rifle slung over his shoulder. “I’ll watch the rear this time.”
“You sure I can’t carry something?”
Artur felt a little surge of frustration but pushed it aside and gave the soldier a smile. “Really, I’m fine. I appreciate it.”
Tocchet nodded slowly. “Just let me know if you change your mind.” The soldier turned and strode off the bridge. A few seconds later, he disappeared into the dense foliage on the hill.
Satisfied that everyone was gone, Artur reached into a pocket on the side of his pack and pulled out a plain flask. After taking one last glance toward the trees, he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of Johnnie Walker. He let the whisky linger in his mouth for a moment before tilting his head back and allowing it to slide down his throat. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve as he debated how much he should have.
Normally the Brazilian drank only at night, long after Jorge had retired for the evening. But the events of the last twenty-four hours had shot his nerves. He had sensed the presence of evil the moment they’d descended into the crater. It was the same sensation he’d experienced when he and his grandmother had lived next to a witch doctor in Santarem. Thankfully, he’d been able to convince her to move after strange things had begun to happen around the house.
He looked at the flask. What the heck. He took another swig, this one even longer. He felt a little guilty but quickly swept the feeling away. The amber-colored liquor would help him get through the next few days.
Artur glanced up at the trail again. If he didn’t get started, the American soldier would likely come back to see what was wrong.
One more, and that’s it.
Tilting his head back, the Brazilian took his third and final drink. Then he screwed the cap back on the flask and stowed it away.
As he slung his pack over his back, his gaze fell on a pod of ferns at the edge of the clearing. Some of the fronds waved back and forth as though something was moving underneath. He took a few steps closer, a frown spreading across his face.
Maybe it’s the whiskey, he thought.
Suddenly, he saw something in the shadows near the bottom. He took several steps closer and squinted. As the details came into focus, he froze. A black face stared at him from the darkness.
His heart racing, Artur flipped the rifle off his shoulder and raised it with both hands. A second later, he lowered it. The face was gone now, but some of the fronds were moving again.
A twig snapped to his right. Pivoting in that direction, Artur saw a shadow flash across an opening in the trees.
His heart thumping wildly in his chest, he slung his pack over a shoulder and backstepped across the bridge, swinging his gun back and forth. He heard more movement in the jungle, but each time he turned, there was nothing there.
A few steps later, he felt soil under his feet, and relief swept over him. After taking one last look, he turned and raced up the hill.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The last rays of afternoon sunlight filtered down through the canopy as the group filed up the hill. Zane wiped sweat out of his eyes and glanced ahead. Osak stood in the middle of the trail about fifty yards away. He said something then waved them on.
“He says we’re almost there,” Max said.
Bennett looked at Zane. “I’ll go up and clear things at the top.”
Zane nodded, and the soldier sprinted off.
“I hope we’re there.” Katiya rubbed her thigh with a hand. “My legs feel like linguine.”
“I think we could all use a rest soon,” Brett said.
A few minutes later, the path leveled off, and the trees and undergrowth began to thin out.