Temple

The village was essentially comprised of a grass-covered central street that ran for about a hundred yards away from the river. It was lined on both sides by roofless stone huts that were overgrown with weeds and moss. The whole town, in fact, was covered in foliage—-it was as if the rain- forest surrounding it had come alive and consumed it whole.

At Race's end of the street was the river and the rickety remains of an old wooden jetty. At the other end of the street—looking down over the little town like some kind of protective god—were the ruins of the great pyramid-like citadel.

In truth, the citadel was no bigger than a two-storey suburban house. But it was made of some of the most solid- looking stones Race had ever seen. It was that same precise Incan masonry he had read about in the manuscript. Giant square-shaped boulders that had been pounded into shape by Incan stonemasons and then set perfectly in place alongside other, similarly fashioned boulders. No mortar was necessary and none had been used.

The citadel was made up of two tiers, both of them circular in shape—the upper level a smaller concentric circle that rested atop the larger lower one.

The whole structure, however, looked weathered and worn, beaten and decrepit. The once intimidating stone walls were now laced with green vines and a network of forked cracks. The whole upper level was broken and crumbling.

The lower level was still largely intact, but completely overgrown with weeds. A large doorstone sat at an odd angle inside the building's main entranceway.

Aside from the citadel, there was one other dominant feature of the village.

The town of Vilcafor was surrounded by a huge dried-up moat—an enormous horseshoe-shaped ditch that ran around the entire town, starting at the riverbank and ending at the riverbank. Two great stone dikes prevented the water in the river from rushing into the moat.

It must have been at least fifteen feet across and just as

deep. Tangled thorny thickets of brush snaked their way along its waterless base. Two old wooden log-bridges spanned its width on either side of the village. Like the rest of the town, they too had been overcome by the encroaching rainforest. Their wooden beams were laced with sprawling green vines.

Race stood motionless at the end of the old Incan street,

the pouring rain running off the brim of his cap.

He felt like he was entering another world.

An ancient world.

A dangerous world.

'Don't stay near the water too long,' Lauren said as she strode past him.

Race turned, not understanding. Lauren clicked on her flashlight and pointed it at the river behind him.

It was as if someone had just flicked on a light switch.

Race saw them instantly. Glinting in the light of Lauren's

flashlight.

Eyes.

No less than fifty pairs of eyes, protruding from the inky

black water, stared back at him from the rain-spattered surface of the river.

He turned quickly to Lauren. 'Alligators?'

'No,” Walter Chambers said, coming over. “Melanosuchus niger. Black caimans. Largest crocodilian on the continent.

Some sa the largest in the world. They're bigger than any alligator, and in biology more like a crocodile. In fact, the black caiman is a close relative of Crocodylus porosus, the ant Australian saltwater crocodile.'

'How big are they?' Race asked. He could only see the eerie constellation of eyes before him. He couldn't tell how big the reptiles in the water actually were.

'About twenty-two feet,' Chambers said cheerfully.

'Twenty-two feet.' Race did the calculations in his head.

Twenty-two feet equalled seven metres.

'How much do they weigh?' he asked.

'About 2300 pounds. What's that, about a thousand kilograms.'

A thousand kilograms, Race thought. A metric ton.

Wonderful.

The caimans in the darkened river began to rise in the water and Race saw their armoured crocodilian backs, saw the pointed plates of their tails.

They looked like dark mounds just hovering in the water.

Great big massive mounds.

'They're not going to come out of the water, are they?'

'They might,' Chambers said. 'But probably not. Most crocodilians prefer to grab their victims by surprise at the water's edge, from the cover of the water itself. And although black caimans are night hunters, they rarely stray out of the water in the evening, for the simple reason that it's too cold. Like all reptiles they have to watch their body temperature.'

Race stepped away from the water's edge.

'Black caimans,' he said. JGreat.'

Frank Nash stood at the end of the main street of Vilcafor with his arms folded across his chest, alone. He just stared intently at the decrepit old village before him.

Troy Copeland appeared at his side. 'Sebastian just called

from Cuzco. Romano just went through the airport there. He arrived in a Globemaster under Tomcat escort. He then

liaised with a few choppers and headed off in this direction.'

'What sort of choppers?”

'Super Stallions. Three of them.'