Temple

Slowly, gently, the jet pack lowered Race down to earth.

He sighed, breathless, and allowed his body to go limp as he descended into the canopy of lush rainforest trees.

Seconds later, his feet touched the ground and he just fell to his knees, exhausted.

He looked at the rainforest around him and in a distant corner of his mind wondered how the hell he was going to get out of here.

Then he decided that he didn't care anymore. He had just disarmed a Supernova while falling from a height of 19,000 feet inside a 67-ton main battle tank.

No, he didn't care in the slightest.

And then suddenly the solution to his problem revealed itself in the form of a small seaplane swooping in low over the trees above him. A man's hand waved happily from the pilot's window.

It was Doogie and the Goose.

Beautiful.

Thirty minutes later, thanks to a conveniently placed stretch of river nearby, Race was back on board the Goose with the others, soaring through the clear afternoon sky high above the rainforest.

He rested his head against the cockpit window, stared vacantly through it as they flew. He was absolutely exhausted.

Beside him, Doogie said, 'You know what I think, Professor, I think it's high time we got the hell out of this damned country. What do you think?'

“Race turned to face him. “No, Doogie. Not yet. There's still one more thing we have to do before we go.'

SEVENTH MACHINATION

Wednesday, January 6, 1730 hours

The Goose touched down on the river next to Vilcafor shortly before sunset on January 6, 1999.

After dousing themselves in monkey urine again, Race and Renee headed back to the upper village. They left Doogie and Gaby in the Goose, to allow Gaby to tend to the young Green Beret's many wounds.

As the two of them trudged through Vilcafor, tired and exhausted, Race saw that there were no bodies lying on the street.

Despite the fact that about a dozen Navy and DARPA scientists - plus Marty, Lauren, Nash and Van Lewen—had been killed here only a few hours previously, no bodies remained.

Race looked at the empty street sadly. He had an idea where the bodies had gone.

He and Renee entered the upper village just as dusk was beginning to settle over the Andean foothills.

The natives' chieftain, Roa, and the anthropologist, Miguel Moros Marquez, met them at the moat at the edge of the village.

'I think this belongs to you,' Race said, holding the idol out in his hands.

Roa smiled at him. 'You truly are the Chosen One,' he said. 'My people will sing songs about you one day. Thank you, thank you for returning our Spirit.'

Race bowed his head. He didn't think he was any kind of Chosen One at all. He'd just done what he had thought was right.

'Just promise me this,' he said to Roa. 'Promise me that when I am gone, you will leave this village and disappear into the forests. Men will come searching for this idol again, of that I am certain. Take this idol far away from here, where they will never find it.'

Roa nodded. 'We will, Chosen One. We will.'

Race still hadn't actually handed the idol to Roa yet.

'If you will permit me, sir,' he said, 'there is one more thing I have to do here, and to do it, I will require the use of the idol.'

The tribe of natives assembled on the spiralling path that encircled the rock tower.

Night had fallen and they were all thoroughly doused in monkey urine.

The rapas, Marquez said, unable to return to their lair inside the temple, had spent the day hiding in the heavy shadows at the base of the crater.

Race stood on the spiralling path, looking out across the ravine that had earlier been spanned by the rope bridge.

The rope bridge still hung flat against the side of the tower, in the same place the Nazis had left it when they had unlooped it from its buttresses twenty-four hours ago.

One of Roa's nimblest climbers doubly soaked in monkey urine—-was sent down to the base of the canyon where he embarked upon a skilful climb up the rock tower's near- vertical wall.

After a while, he came to the long retrieval rope that dangled from the bottom of the rope bridge. He tied it to another rope that was held by natives standing on the spiralling path and they then pulled the retrieval rope over to their side of the ravine.

The rope bridge was quickly secured back into place.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' Renee said to Race as he gazed across at the tower top.

'There's a way out of that temple,' he said. 'Renco found it. I will, too.'

Then, with the idol in one hand and a torch in the other and a leather satchel slung over his shoulder, Race led the way across the swooping bridge.

A team of ten of Roa's strongest warriors followed him, bearing flaming torches of their own.

Once they were all on the rock tower, Race led them up to the clearing in front of the temple. There he pulled a water bladder out of his leather satchel and used it to douse the thyrium idol.

The idol hummed instantly. A pure, mesmerising sound that cut through the night air like a knife.

Within minutes, the first rapa arrived at the clearing.

Then a second, and a third.