Viper's Nest Read online

  As they set off, the wind was blowing hard, wailing and moaning through the trees, and a light drizzle of rain fell across their faces. Above them, the howler monkeys were busy living up to their names and, faraway, Cate heard the sinister call of a coyote.

  Despite Ritchie’s burly frame striding beside her in the darkness, Cate felt uneasy, weighed down by a sense of foreboding she just couldn’t shake.

  Why? After all, this had been the breakthrough she had been longing for – and yet something felt wrong, so wrong that she had been all in favour of waiting till morning before they set out for the pyramid.

  ‘We can go for help,’ she had argued, as Ritchie had buttoned the map carefully into his coat pocket. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t do this alone.’

  He grabbed her by the hand. ‘Time’s running out. There might be some clue to what happened in this pyramid place.’

  Cate stared at his anxious eyes and nodded. ‘OK, Ritchie, you win.’

  They walked silently, concentrating on making a pathway through the jungle rather than conversation. It was hard going, with only the narrow beam of their torches to light their way. They had to push aside thick vines, duck and weave around overhanging branches, and try to avoid the meanest-looking plants in the undergrowth. Ritchie tripped, falling on his hands and cursing quietly as he pulled out sharp thorns from his palms.

  Then, above the noise of the wind, they could hear the unmistakable sound of rushing water.

  ‘It says there’s water next to the pyramid,’ said Ritchie consulting Amber’s map. ‘We must be nearly there.’

  The pair looked at each other, the unspoken questions hanging between them. Would they find any sign of the twins?

  The jungle began to thin out, the overhanging trees became less dense, the undergrowth easier to walk through.

  ‘A path!’ said Cate, playing her torch on the narrow strip that ran in front of them towards what looked like a low grassy mound. As they got nearer, they saw it was triangular in shape, thirty or so metres in width, and almost completely hidden by the jungle that had grown into and over the crumbling stonework.

  ‘Awesome,’ breathed Ritchie as they reached the base. He tugged away at large vines to reveal the stepped stonework and Cate ran the torch upwards. The pyramid was in very poor shape – it was barely identifiable as a pyramid.

  ‘You OK?’ said Ritchie, noticing her expression. ‘It is kinda spooky, but you know it’s only old stones. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Cate smiled at him gratefully and then sat down on a large chunk of stone. She shrugged her rucksack off over her shoulders.

  ‘How did the police miss this place?’ she asked Ritchie. ‘I thought they had dogs searching for the students?’

  ‘It’s a big jungle,’ said Ritchie, patting his pockets. ‘They can’t search everywhere, I guess. And unless you knew what you were looking for, it would be almost impossible to find. Sorry Cate, I’m going to have to go to the loo – I’ll be a few minutes.’

  Cate gazed round what remained of the pyramid as she waited for him, listening to the wind rocking the trees far above her. The place felt desolate, sad, unfriendly even, as if it didn’t want her there. She shook her head. She mustn’t let El Tajin get to her.

  She retrieved the spy kit from her rucksack and slipped it into the inside pocket of her denim jacket. She had a feeling she was going to need it in the hours to come.

  A soft bleep came from her pocket, a text from Arthur.

  Daughter of Bright Moon owner played teenage vampire in last Johnny James movie. Her mum a big collector of Mexican artefacts. Does that help?

  Cate took a deep breath and stared down at her phone. Every which way she turned in this investigation, there was one common link. Art lover, sponsor of ancient digs, who also owned the Erin, where Burt had done his deals and Gabriel had met his death. Just one name linked them all: Hollywood superstar, Johnny James.

  CHAPTER 18

  Rain began to fall, cold and persistent on her face, but Cate sat oblivious, staring into the dark, her mind trying to piece together the jigsaw puzzle. Was Johnny James the man behind it all?

  It made sense. His generosity gave him the access he needed, the insider knowledge that was essential to organise these crimes. After all, if Johnny James was forking out all that money for people to go on a dig, surely it would be perfectly natural for him to ask them how the dig was going, what treasures they had unearthed, what precious artefacts had just seen the light of day. They weren’t going to say no to a man who had been so generous.

  And once he knew what was available, thugs were sent in to do his dirty work, with or without violence, as the mood took them. Maybe that was Novak’s role? As an ex-agent he would be the perfect man to organise the robberies.

  And Gabriel, where had he fitted in? Was he the transport man, who brought the treasures back over the border and left them at Mexicano Magic until things had calmed down, before they were then taken to Johnny James’s panic room? And from there were they passed on to collectors, selected dealers, middle-men like the one she had seen on the Ming Yue, who could be relied upon to be discreet?

  For a few seconds, Cate was convinced she had cracked the crime. But then she remembered she wasn’t the only one who had come close to death at the hands of Gabriel. If it hadn’t been for a good chunk of luck, Ritchie would have died that evening too on the Pacific Highway. And what uncle, particularly one who appeared to be as friendly and loving as Johnny James, would order the killing of his own nephew – the nephew he had given piggybacks to as boy – his own sister’s child? But perhaps that had been a mistake by two thugs who failed to know just how much Johnny James cared for his nephew. He had certainly sounded upset when he left that message on her answerphone. But then, he was an actor . . .

  The real question was why. Why would a world-famous film star risk everything in this way? For money? Surely he had enough money to keep him in art for ever. Or did he? Art was expensive, priceless even.

  Cate imagined Henri speaking in his clipped way. ‘Circumstantial evidence, Cate. All circumstantial. We have no real proof of his involvement. And until we do, we can’t just arrest someone like Johnny James. If we were wrong, we’d never work again.’

  As if on cue her phone vibrated with a message from Marcus.

  Chopper due in 0400 @ Plaza del Arroryo.

  Cate nodded to herself. She knew where that was. The rectangular piece of land which lay in the middle of the four pyramids she had seen when she first arrived.

  She thought for a minute then texted her reply to Marcus.

  You need to get into Johnny James’s panic room. It’s the key to the whole thing.

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’ Ritchie emerged from the jungle ‘Ready to go on?’ he asked, putting out his hand.

  She looked up at Ritchie – decent, dependable, fun Ritchie – and a terrible chain of thoughts began to unravel in her mind. She was almost too scared to pursue them. Right from the moment he had bumped into her at LAX, Ritchie had been friendliness itself – almost too friendly. He had wanted them to keep in touch, pressed his number on to her. Then, when he spotted her at the Erin, he had insisted that she met Johnny James. Cate had believed it was because he genuinely liked her. But maybe she had been naive. If Johnny James was involved with the thefts and the murders, perhaps Ritchie was too. But then, he was almost killed on the highway . . . Unless that was a particularly elaborate set-up . . . Surely that couldn’t be possible, could it? She tried to calm herself down. Working for IMIA was obviously getting to her – she had started to believe that nothing was as it seemed.

  Cate’s heart was pounding as she struggled to keep her expression neutral. She decided she could trust no one. Not even Ritchie.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ said Ritchie with a smile, pulling her to her feet. ‘I’ll take care of you, I promise. Now, let’s go find this entrance.’

  With Cate crouching at ground level and Ritchie standing, the
two of them worked their way along the north-east base of the pyramid, tapping, prodding, feeling for any opening or loose stone that might denote an entrance.

  The wind had increased in strength and was howling so loudly that she and Ritchie had long since given up trying to talk. She glanced up at him as he clung crablike on to the wall above her, a determined look on his face as he tugged methodically at stone after stone.

  Doubts began to creep into her mind. Had they come on a wild goose chase?

  They had made it more than two-thirds of the way along the base when, without warning, Cate felt the left side of her body give way. Her hand, then her arm, then her shoulder fell through a hole that sloped down underground.

  She let out an involuntary yell and struggled to pull herself back upright.

  Ritchie was instantly by her side, pushing his arm down in the hole, shining a torch into the darkness.

  ‘You’re a genius!’ He high-fived her enthusiastically, his torch waving in the air. ‘Lead the way. You’ve earned it.’

  ‘We shouldn’t go together,’ Cate said. ‘It’s too dangerous. I’ve read about these pyramids – they were often built with traps and shafts, and in any case the interior is probably unstable. One of us should go first to check it out and the other stay here to get help in case they don’t come back. And, much as I hate to say it, you should be the one to go in there first.’

  He gestured down at his muscular body. ‘But you’re about half the size of me. Less likely to get stuck.’

  Cate looked at Ritchie, trying to work him out, to see if the answer to her fears lay somewhere in his face. Was he friend or foe?

  He looked at her, his eyes wide and innocent, his face free of any tension, waiting for her to say something. She thought back to that nightmare journey on the highway, remembered how Ritchie had begged her to leave him so that she could save herself. Surely that was no set-up – Ritchie’s life had been in danger.

  But if she was wrong and Ritchie was involved in these vicious crimes . . . well, going into the tunnel and leaving him to guard what was probably the only exit could be disastrous.

  She took a deep breath, made up her mind, and nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll go,’ she said. She raised her hand in a gesture of farewell, then dropped to her knees, pushed the vines aside and crawled into the damp, dark tunnel.

  After the noise of the wind, the silence in the tunnel seemed almost overwhelming. A narrow beam of light shone over her shoulder and Ritchie’s voice came echoing down into the darkness. ‘Good luck, Cate. Come back soon.’

  Cate moved slowly forward, feeling through the fronds of reeds and weeds to the ground in front her, testing it with her hands before committing her whole body weight. The dampness was all-pervading, large blobs of water dripped constantly into her hair and on to her clothes, and the air was so full of moisture that every time Cate took a breath she felt as if she was swallowing a mouthful of water.

  Something scuttled across the back of her legs, the torchlight picking out a small black shape disappearing ahead of her. Rats. Yuck. Better than snakes, but only just.

  To her relief, the roof began to rise, enough for her to stand up carefully, pushing away the twisted roots that had grown down like a curtain into the tunnel from above. She felt a rush of cold air on her face and saw that she was moving into a wider passageway.

  She reached into her inside pocket and brought out her spy kit, blinking rapidly as she slipped the lenses on to her eyeballs and activated them. Instantly the chamber was lit up, every crack in the rock, every stone of the floor crystal clear.

  Cate looked around her in wonder. It wasn’t a large space, less than six metres wide, maybe ten metres long, the walls and ceiling lined with flat stone, the floor covered in a dark red sand that felt soft and dry beneath her feet.

  And then she saw them. On every wall and all over the ceiling – drawings: red, blue and black lines skilfully depicting cattle, human figures, children playing; the wide eyes an uncannily accurate representation of the native Mexicans.

  Cate wandered slowly down the corridor, moving her gaze systematically from one wall to another, absorbing the beauty and artistry. She had seen cave paintings before in France, but those had been from prehistoric times, depicting hunting scenes, fires and animals; they had been basic sketches, little more than daubs of colour. These drawings were different: sophisticated storytelling, recording events as clearly as if they had been written down in a book. She was nearly at the end of the wall when she came across the battle scene. On one side, a group of native warriors prepared to fire a hail of arrows. Behind them, the distinctive outline of the pyramid of the three hundred and sixty-five niches showed that they were from El Tajin, defending their city against attack.

  Facing them was the enemy, the prows of dozens of longboats floating on a vivid sea behind them. Cate looked, and then looked again, not quite able to believe what she was seeing.

  This was no local battle for supremacy, no civil war of native against native, tribe against tribe. This enemy had narrow faces and metal helmets, flowing white hair and beards. They carried metal swords and spears and round shields. At one side, a giant of a man stood over all the others, resplendent in a flowing red cloak and horned helm. Vikings.

  For a few seconds Cate thought she must be dreaming, although she knew, deep down, there could be no mistake. She had studied Viking history at school, knew that they had traded, fought and settled as far as North Africa, Russia, Turkey and even North America. But this – this was something else. These paintings showed that the Vikings had made it to Mexico!

  Cate sat down on the ground, her mind in a whirl. What had Jade’s Twitter said? Thor was so wrong and yet so right.

  Thor had believed it was possible for early civilisations to make it across the treacherous Atlantic Ocean to Mexico. He had believed that the Egyptians had sailed across the Atlantic. But perhaps they hadn’t been the only ones. Perhaps, a few thousand years later, the Vikings had come too.

  Cate stared at the paintings. Was that it? Was this where Amber’s map had been leading her all along – to wall paintings? It was a major find, but hardly fitted in with the heists of the ruins that had been going on. There had to be more to it than that.

  She looked around. To her left the passageway came to an end, the wall smooth and unbroken. There was nowhere else to go.

  She stepped back and took one last look at the paintings. Something was wrong, something disjointed. Then she spotted it. If you followed the trajectory of the arrows coming from the natives’ bows, they weren’t headed, as you would have expected, for the invading army. They were pointing up, almost out of the painting, to somewhere far beyond the battlefield.

  Cate slowly turned her head, her eyes following the direction of the arrows and then, as if in a dream, walked towards the far end of the passageway. As she got closer, she saw that what she had mistaken for a shadow was, in fact, a gash in the wall – the beginning of a tunnel maybe, or a small cave. But a pile of boulders blocked the way – a recent fall, by the look of the freshly torn roots that had come down with them.

  And then, sticking out from under one of the rocks she saw a wisp of black leather woven with coloured beads. Cate reached down and pulled it out, her eyes wide. A friendship bracelet. The twins loved them, she remembered. They always had a stack of them on each arm.

  Cate put her hand inside her jacket and pulled out her spy kit, nerves making her fumble as she activated the heat-seeker. She began to move it slowly over the wall in front of her, listening intently to the slow, steady blip, hoping against hope for a change in sound that would denote that, somewhere behind that wall, something was alive.

  And then suddenly the sound changed, swinging to a high-pitched shriek that echoed around the chamber. Someone, or something, was alive behind the wall. Cate’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. She flung down the wand, pressing her hands against the wall, searching for something, anything, that would lead to an entrance.


  She frowned. And then she had a brainwave. She reached into her pocket and turned off the night-vision lenses. The darkness was so overwhelming, so disorientating, that for a few seconds Cate felt as if she had gone blind. But then, as her eyes began to adjust, she saw the faintest pinprick of light shining above her, piercing through a pile of rock. Cate jumped up at the wall, her fingers clinging on tightly until she managed to haul herself level with the light.

  It was a tiny opening, not much bigger than a fingernail, a damp patch just underneath it showing that it had been made by water erosion. Almost trembling with anticipation, Cate reactivated the lenses and put her right eye to the hole.

  She saw them immediately. The four missing students were huddled together in the far corner of a small room, draped around one another, eyes shut, deadly still. Cate could pick out Amber and Jade, their distinctive dark curls lolling back against the stone wall. On one side of them, a blond-haired young man was leaning forward, his left hand resting protectively on the source of the light, a small torch that was flickering, clearly coming to the end of its battery life. On the other side sat a dark-haired man.

  Cate drew back in shock, too frightened to shout. She thought about Ritchie waiting outside in the darkness, worried about her, and for a few seconds considered going back to get him. But she still didn’t know for sure whether she could trust him, and she knew she needed to act now, that she couldn’t leave the twins for a moment longer than necessary in their dreadful tomb. She grabbed the mini laser.

  She reached above her to where she had seen the light, pointed the laser at the stone and flicked the switch, marvelling at the tiny sizzling sound, smelling the heat from the stone as the laser got to work. She scribed a small semi-circle, just large enough for her to wriggle though, but still it was hard work. Then at last, miraculously, the stone wobbled and Cate put down the laser gratefully and readied herself for the final effort.