Sam swatted at a buzzing insect and stretched her legs out in the hot springs that gave the village of Aguas Calientes its name. The presence of a group of rowdy trekkers had almost put her off this indulgence until she remembered this would be the last time she'd see hot water for a week. The trekkers, mostly American students, had been full of 'amazing', 'incredible', 'next time I'm taking the train' stories of their four-day trek along the Inca Trail from Kilometre 88 to Machu Picchu.
'Just wait till you see it,' they'd all said and Sam had said 'yeah she couldn't wait', because she wasn't about to admit that she was within eight kilometres of Peru's most famous Inca ruins and was going to bypass them altogether.
While Sam had spent most of the previous day in Cuzco sleeping off the accumulative effects of a Turkish thrashing, jet lag and a marked increase in elevation, Maggie had gone on an equipment shopping spree and secured the services of a guide to take them to Manco City.
The guide was an old acquaintance, who had accompanied her on previous treks to archaeological sites buried deep in the Andean wilderness, and the equipment had included sleeping bags, mats, a tent, a stove, cooking pots, a compass, maps, torches and warm jackets. Sam didn't think they'd get further than the front door of the hotel with all that stuff but Maggie reassured her that by the time they reached Richarte's home in Ollantaytambo, he would have organised the rest of their supplies and porters who would carry everything.
The first part of the trip from Cuzco had been uneventful, if travelling in the back of a truck through incredible mountain scenery can be labelled with such an understatement. Their journey had taken them north from Cuzco to the town of Pisac, where a bustling and colourful Sunday market had attracted crowds of locals and quite a few tourists. From there the truck headed north-west into the Sacred Valley, taking the only road that followed the course of the spectacular Urubamba River, and on to Ollantaytambo, a village built on Inca foundations.
Richarte, a jovial and friendly middle-aged man with a huge moustache, had greeted Maggie affectionately and conveyed them and their gear to his house where he provided a hearty late breakfast. Three hours later he bundled them, three of his sons, and what looked to Sam like enough supplies for a year on to a local train bound for Machu Picchu. The railway was the only way to get to the ruins, apart from the four-day Inca pedestrian Trail, and the trip to Aguas Calientes had taken nearly two hours.
While Sam had enjoyed the scenery, Maggie and Richarte had poured over maps and charts trying to work out just where it was they going and how best to get there. The information provided by Maggie's friend Ruth, indicated that archaeological teams had been investigating nine small ceremonial centres scattered around the area north of Huayna Picchu. Of these centres only two, Huayna Picchu North-West Three and North-East Seven, were currently funded and had teams carrying out excavation work. Site Number Seven, which they assumed was 'Manco City', lay about 17 kilometres north-east of Huayna Picchu, the solitary peak that looked like it had sidestepped out of the mountains to act as sentinel over the ruins of Machu Picchu.
Richarte had finally determined that the best option was to strike out into the jungle from Aguas Calientes, rather than from Machu Picchu where the terrain for the first part of the trek would be too hard going, so they had disembarked from the train to set up camp for the night.
After the trekkers had left the hot springs, Sam gave herself 10 minutes alone before packing up and heading back to the campsite. Maggie was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of their tent and Richarte and his sons were busy doing something with a large pot and a small stove.
"A good cup of coffee is the only thing in life worth dying for," Maggie sighed.
"Does that mean that's good or bad coffee?" Sam asked, nodding at Maggie's mug.
"This one," she declared, and then called out to Richarte in Quechuan before turning back to Sam, "is worth killing for."
Sam draped her towel over the tent and then ducked inside to get something out of her pack. When she emerged Richarte's oldest son Victor handed her a mug of coffee and announced that food would be soon ready.
"I've been thinking about Henri Schliemann," Maggie said.
"So have I," Sam said, sitting next to Maggie and handing her Lloyd's photo of 'Manco City 1962'. "It's not going to help much, but it's possible he's in this picture. Tell me who you know."
Maggie pointed to each figure as she named them. "Pavel, Lloyd, Noel, Alistair and Jean. The woman next to Jean is Sarah Croydon, she's with the University in Wellington, and beside her is Louis Ducruet, who's a French Canadian anthropologist. That's it."
"That leaves," Sam counted the heads, "five people who are obviously guides or porters, one unknown woman and these three blokes."
"There must have been at least one other person," Maggie said, pointing to the shadow in the foreground. "If he was there at all, Schliemann may have been the one who took the photo."
"Five out of the seven team members you can identify are dead. That leaves four or five members we don't know anything about, plus a Kiwi and a Canadian." Sam noted. "Oh, no. Marcus's show goes to Wellington next, before finishing its world tour in Montreal."
"I had already thought of that, Sam," Maggie said. "And I did try getting in touch with Sarah and Louis while we were still in Melbourne, to see if they knew anything."
"I thought you said you'd told me everything," Sam said.
"I did, I have. That slipped my mind because I didn't actually speak to either of them. Sarah was on a fishing trip with her husband, and Louis is somewhere in Turkey," Maggie explained. "Ah dinner," she added, in response to the sound of Richarte banging the side of the cooking pot with a spoon.
"It smells great," Sam commented, accepting the bowl of noodle something from Richarte.
"Sopa a la criolla," Richarte said. "Spicy soup, with meat and vegetables. Would you like a Cuzquena?"
"Um, probably," Sam said hesitantly.
"It's beer," Maggie explained.
"In that case, definitely," Sam said.