Brynn slapped his shoulder. “There are children present.”
“Umm, oh, sorry.”
More chairs were brought and the team rested their weary legs. Tables were brought out and quickly filled with meat and vegetables, a tureen full of stew and bottles of wine. Hayden started to protest, but Emilio silenced her with a hand.
“Our thank you to you,” he said through Brynn. “Let us show our gratitude as best we can. It is not much.”
Drake saw the need in their eyes. To say no at this point would be to cause embarrassment, and there were still three hours before sundown. He shuffled his chair along so that it was next to Dahl’s and sat back, letting the villagers do their work, and begin to join in the chatter. Of course, it was hard at first but hand motions and smiles, nods and shrugs were always universal.
“You win at the casino?” Drake asked in an undertone.
“Which casino?”
“Oh, funny. Don’t tell me you had time to hit more than one.”
“Didn’t hit any,” Dahl admitted. “SPEAR’s European tour had few highlights, I’m sad to say.”
“Hardly SPEAR,” Drake said. “The Swede and the swordswoman.”
Dahl cast a thoughtful eye over at Kenzie. Drake read it without effort. “You think she did well?”
“Yeah. I think she could be a real asset to the team.”
“Don’t get attached. That’s when people start to die.” Drake accepted a glass of wine though he had no intention of drinking it. “Sorry, that was thoughtless. And wrong.”
Dahl shrugged. “No, my friend. It is true and it is life. Real life. We all have our problems that we must surmount; it is what we do with the good times that counts.”
Drake settled back. The round metal tables had been arranged into a cluttered jigsaw. With Alicia to his right and the Swede at his left, he felt content. The smell of cooked meat made his mouth water. Brynn was close enough to listen and talk to. Emilio and Clareta smiled, ate and drank, and invited more and more villagers to join them. At last, Drake saw the happy community at work; the place Kimbiri had once been. He saw children holding hands and listening to their parents. Men fetching the heavy containers and women rushing off to change into their brighter clothing. He saw several marveling at Kenzie’s sword and a tiny tinge of embarrassment on the Israeli’s face. Someone brought out a boom box and inserted a CD with an ’80s’ rock mix. Drake was hoping for Guns N’ Roses, Judas Priest and Def Leppard but ended up being treated to Michael Jackson, Cyndi Lauper and “Depeche Fucking Mode.”
“It says rock,” he moaned. “Look. It clearly says rock on the label.” He held the offending plastic case up. “The only rock the makers of this compilation know is the one inside their bloody skulls.”
“Remember dino rock?” Mai’s eyes lit up in memory. “Dancing to Foreigner in war-torn Chechnya? Listening to Van Halen as we prepared that jump? Speakers blasting away.”
Alicia was on it like a viper striking. “He’s modernized now, and into prettier more reckless things.”
“Oh, clever.” Mai didn’t smile.
Drake tried to mediate. “I like the new stuff, but I still enjoy a good blast with the old stuff too.” He winced a little as Alicia turned a red-hot stare on him. He tried again. “Maybe it would be nice to mix them together.”
Alicia growled. Mai blinked. Drake now cringed. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”
“Never gonna happen,” the Englishwoman said.
“It’s the wine talking.” Drake held up the full glass.
A party erupted all around them. The villagers had lived in fear for so long they took this one chance to let their guard down, to live. Drake accepted thanks again and again, and started a stilted conversation with a couple that knew enough English to get by. Alicia danced with one young man, then another. Dahl fended off the attention of several twenty-somethings. Even the sun emerged grandly from behind white wisps of cloud, bathing the land with cheer.
“Now that’s putting in a great appearance,” Drake said to nobody in particular. “Something the English football team should learn about.”
Drake tore off a chunk of food and ate, stomach complaining after so many rations during the last few days. It felt good to eat real food. He chewed, drank water and found himself nodding along with Madonna.
Fuck it. The old girl managed more than one decent song in her time.
Brynn returned to her seat after a quick turn around the dance floor — the dusty village square — and then scooted up a few spaces, taking advantage of Alicia’s own popularity with the boys.
One time, Drake thought, she’d have ridiculed the stranger asking her to dance.
Brynn grinned over at him. “These people are worth your time?”
Drake frowned. “Of course. What kind of a question is that?”
“You are soldiers.” Brynn shrugged. “Don’t you have nations to protect? Your own citizens?”
“We’re not gonna leave you to the wolves. Relatively speaking.”
“You are a credit to your profession,” Brynn said with heartfelt conviction. “And I offer my most humble thanks.”
Drake bowed his head. In all his years as a soldier it was a rare occasion when someone came up and properly thanked him. Face to face, heart to heart. To many he was a man doing a job. To some, a pawn carrying out the maneuverings of others. But he was still a soldier, risking everything for people regardless or not of whether they welcomed or appreciated it. The calling and the conviction was a duty he carried in his heart.
“We’re here until it’s finished,” he said plainly, and then quickly sought to change the subject. “What else do you know of this Inca legend?”
“The Gold Room? This Pizarro, this Spanish conqueror—” Brynn twisted her face in distaste “—was nothing but a power-hungry fame seeker. Killing thousands in the name of Spain for his own infamous ends. Twice driven away easily by the Incas he came to a settlement where the villagers helped him. Gave his men time and food to help heal from their battles. He then sailed back to Spain, distended with knowledge of gold and wealth, and convinced the emperor to finance a return shortly thereafter. Only this time, the deal was he would be made governor of all the lands he conquered. He killed Atahualpa,” Brynn said in a tone of disgust, “out of fear. The Spaniards numbered 160, the Incas eighty thousand. The coward falsified charges in Atahualpa’s trial and ended up having him garroted. They took Atahualpa so the Incas would have nothing to fight for. General Rumiñahui then hid,” she paused, smiling, “seven hundred and fifty tons of gold they say, in the Llanganates mountains. Beyond these mountains.”
She nodded over Drake’s shoulder.
He gawped. “Seven hundred and fifty tons of gold? Whoa.”
“Some say Ecuador. But those mountains are too high. They are soaring volcanic peaks shrouded in mist. The general would not have gone to such lengths with so much treasure, weighing so much, part of a caravan and with a modicum of men. That area boasts the most treacherous terrain and extreme weather conditions. Why struggle to hide it there? Instead, the general came here to a place he already knew. Does that not make more sense?”
Drake nodded. “I guess, but you’re second guessing an Inca general.”
“Perhaps. But consider this: A treasure made up of life-size figures formed from beaten silver and gold. Thousands of birds, animals, flowers. Pots full of incredible jewelry and vases full of emeralds. And that’s not the best of it.”
“There’s something more valuable?”
“Many things. Not counting the fountain, it is said that thousands of pieces of pre-Inca handicraft and beautiful goldsmith works are among the riches.”