“There are big tunnels but they all lead downward,” Blanco added with a slight shudder. “We did not go very far into any of them.”

“There has to be a way out,” the frustrated Da Rimini exclaimed.

“Not necessarily.” Fewick sat quietly by the lantern, stroking Moe. The cat lay contentedly in his lap. “What better hiding place for a great treasure than a cave with only that as the way in and out?” He nodded in the direction of the ovoid.

Ashwood made a noise. “Are you thinkin’ of tryin’ to use that whatever-it-is again?”

“Why not? If it was used to bring this gold here, then people had to be moving back and forth. We have no reason to suppose it only operates in one direction.”

“Then we could take some of this gold with us.” Da Rimini looked thoughtful.

“Hey,” said Carter warningly, “whose side are you on, Fewick?”

The archaeologist eyed him noncommittally. “Why, the same side I have always been on, my thespianic friend. The side of knowledge.” He glanced at Da Rimini. “This is a primitive site. If there is another way out of here I am the individual most likely to find it. However, if you wish my help I must ask that you return my pistol to me.” He paused. “I would decide quickly. The batteries in these lights will not last forever.”

Da Rimini hesitated, glanced at her partners. Manco Fernández nodded. “Very well. But if you try anything you die.”

“Concisely put.” He smiled and set Moe aside.

“Bastard,” Ashwood muttered.

“I beg to disagree,” he responded. “I am legitimate, if not popular.” He accepted his pistol from Da Rimini, made sure the safety was off, and slipped it back into his holster.

“Get up,” Da Rimini told her three remaining prisoners. “You are coming with us. I don’ trust leaving you alone.”

So much for him and Igor working on each other’s bonds, Carter thought disappointedly. They stumbled up the tunnel, following their captors.

Sure enough, Fewick found a path where no one else would have thought to look. It began beneath a half-collapsed lintel and led off to the right. In spite of the fate which probably awaited them, Carter found that he was eager for fresh air and the sight of the sun again. If they had to die he much preferred to do so out in the open. And if they were lucky an opportunity to escape might yet present itself.

The paved path ended in a solid rock wall.

Fewick made no attempt to conceal his disappointment. “This is not what I expected.”

“It not very useful, either,” growled Da Rimini.

“That’s because your eyes ain’t no sharper than your brain.” Ashwood stepped forward and nodded at a corner of the wall.

Set in a small carved recess was a miniature of the mysterious ovoid. It sported a much duller sheen than its larger relative and was no more than a couple of inches tall. Only two grooves marred its otherwise perfectly smooth surface.

Manco reached for it, only to find that it was fastened securely into the stone. He glanced back at Da Rimini.

“Try it,” she said.

He nodded, considered for a moment, then ran two fingers down the pair of engravings. His effort was rewarded by a grinding noise that made everyone retreat several steps.

A portion of the wall slid aside, creating an opening just wide enough for one person to slip through. Accompanied by a cool breeze, evening light poured into the passageway. They filed out under Manco Fernández’s watchful eye.

The jungle was gone.

They found themselves standing on a rocky hillside. Brush and small trees grew in isolated clumps, hiding the well-concealed entrance from view. Not that there was anyone around to notice it.

Spread out before them lay a vast barren plain. To the north they could make out a few cultivated fields scattered around a small river. A single smoky tendril curled through the clear air, marking the location of some unseen habitation. Other than the smoke, the only sign of life was a small single-engine plane which was slowly circling the plain at high altitude.

The sharp-eyed Igor was the first to notice what the plane’s occupants were examining. As soon as he pointed it out, Manco Fernández let out a startled oath in Spanish.

“Nazca. Por Dios, we’ve come to Nazca!”

“What’s that?” Carter asked him. Fewick looked at the actor and shook his head sadly.

“An archaeological site of some repute,” he explained dryly. “It predates the Incas by some hundreds of years.” He squinted at the buzzing plane. “People come here to view the massive figures and lines the Nazca ‘drew’ on this plain by moving dark rock and gravel aside to reveal the lighter rock underneath. Many of the drawings can only properly be viewed from high above. It is an interesting phenomenon for which multiple explanations have been advanced.”

“Von Daniken,” said Ashwood.

“Oh, come now,” Fewick admonished her.

“Who’s Von Daniken?” Carter inquired ingenuously.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Von Daniken?” Ashwood stared at him in disbelief.

Carter shrugged slightly. “Actually, no.”

“Erich von Daniken? ‘Hubcaps of the Gods,’ or whatever? One o’ his theories claimed that these here Nazca lines were made by the locals to help extraterrestrials’ spaceships land here.”

“Every one of his claims has been explained away,” Fewick insisted.

“So I’ve heard.” She looked back over her shoulder, at the entrance to the cave. “Now somebody’s gonna have to explain away that matter transmitter. Or are you gonna tell me it was a Kodak moment that brought us all the way here across the Andes from Paititi?”

“The two phenomena are not related,” Fewick muttered.

“Where is here, anyway?” Carter asked.

Igor was studying the plane, wondering if its occupants might spot them standing there among the trees. “More than two hundred miles southwest of the Manú, where we were. Close to the ocean.”

Ashwood continued to taunt the archaeologist. “C’mon, Fewick. Tell me again there ain’t no connection. Tell me how the Incas went and built themselves a matter transmitter.”

The whirr of the motor drive on Trang Ho’s camera provided quiet mechanical counterpoint to the hum of the observation plane’s engine. Igor’s hopes fell as it banked and turned northward.

“Matter transmitter.” Manco Fernández had stood aloof from the conversation, thinking furiously. “Do you realize, Blanco, what this means?”

“No, what?” By this time Carter was convinced that the slightly larger Fernández twin operated on two fewer cylinders than his older brother. “Money?”

“Yes, yes. Scientists will pay much to study such a device. But more important than that, much more.” His eyes gleamed. “Think what it could mean for crowd flow control at Incaworld!”

“Questions of origin aside,” Fewick protested, “you are speaking of one of the great scientific discoveries of the century. Surely you cannot be thinking of exploiting it for crass commercial motives?”

Manco eyed him as if he was crazy. “What else would anybody exploit anything for?”

“I wonder what the power source is,” Igor murmured to no one in particular. “I wonder where it is?”