They arrived in Lima before the sun came up. Since they had a short layover, they grabbed a quick breakfast in the airport diner. They departed at 4:50 a.m. and would reach their final destination, Cusco, in about an hour and fifteen minutes.

Caesar closed his eyes but could not doze off, despite getting virtually no sleep for nearly twenty-four hours. Thoughts of realizing his lifelong dream of locating the temple and artifact churned through his mind, and his muscles were tense with anticipation. When they finally landed at Velazco Astete Airport, he and Galton were up and in the aisle as soon as the seatbelt light blinked off.

They made their way to the baggage claim area and found their flight’s luggage carousel. As the carousel started up, Caesar heard a man cursing loudly in Spanish. He turned around and saw a big, bald gorilla of a man staring directly at him. A deep scar ran down the left side of his face, and a black eye patch covered his left eye. Sweat filled the man’s brow as he continued swearing in a husky voice.

Caesar looked over at Galton, who began striding toward the man.

“Moncada!” Galton said. “Speak of the devil and he appeareth. What in blazes are you doing here?”

Moncada pointed at Caesar and said, “I should ask you the same about him. What is that man doing in my country? He is not welcome here.”

Galton raised his hands in the air. “Hold your horses, hombre. That feller’s with me. We here on business.”

“What kind of business?” Moncada asked.

“Business that don’t concern you,” Galton said. “How’d you know I was flying in, anyhow?”

“I did not know,” Moncada said, keeping his eyes on Caesar. “I am not here for you.”

“Expecting somebody?” Galton asked.

“That is not your concern,” Moncada said. “But I want that man to turn around and leave immediately.”

Galton stepped forward and put his scowling face an inch from Moncada’s. “Now you hear me, boy,” he growled. “I’m not a man to be trifled with, hear? I told you he’s with me. That settles it. Go about your own business, and we’ll go about ours.”

Moncada blinked first. “Just see that your business does not take you to the temple, Mr. Galton. If it does, your business will become my business. And you will not like that.”

“What temple?” Galton said. “We’re here for a conference, so you don’t need to concern yourself about us.”

Moncada waited and watched in silence until Galton and Caesar plucked their bags from the carousel and made their way out of the terminal.

“So that’s Moncada,” Caesar said after they’d gone outside to the taxi queue.

“That’s him all right. Snake in the grass if I ever met one.”

Galton looked around. “There we are,” he said, waving a hand. A Peruvian limo driver was holding a sign that had ‘Señor Gatlon’ scribbled on it. Caesar smiled at the misspelling, knowing it would annoy his father-in-law. The driver stood next to a 1987 stretch Cadillac Brougham. Galton shook his head in disgust when he saw the car. “They spared no expense for us high rollers.”

Galton led the way to the car. “Tell me you can speak English better’n you can spell it, boy,” he said to the driver.

“Si, señor,” the driver said. “I mean, yes, sir.”

“Don’t hurt your brain, boy,” Galton said. “Just throw our bags in the trunk and let’s be on our way.”

“Yes, sir,” said the driver, as he relieved them of their luggage.

The driver headed east along Via Expressa before exiting onto Prolongacion De La Cultura, heading in the opposite direction. They arrived at their hotel, Casa Andina, in fifteen minutes. They were in the heart of Cusco, the former capital of the Incan Empire, now a major tourist destination with over a million visitors a year. The city was not their final stop. Galton planned to stay two days at most, just enough time to get things in order for the final leg of their journey.

Galton checked them in, speaking fluent Spanish to the woman behind the reception desk.

“I never knew you could speak anything other than Texan,” Caesar said after they got their keys.

Galton chuckled. “You’d be surprised what I know.”

Galton had booked two adjoining rooms on the third floor with balconies that faced an expansive courtyard below. After freshening up they headed to a nearby café named Jack’s, known for its American cuisine. Galton wanted to play it safe until his stomach adjusted to Peruvian food again.

They discussed Galton’s plan over heaping plates of pancakes and avocadoes, punctuated by sips of steaming cappuccino. “We got a long trek ahead of us,” Galton said. “Your leg gonna hold up okay?”

Caesar lowered his fork and looked at his father-in-law. “Don’t worry about me, old man. I can out-hike you with a bum leg any day of the week.”

“Who you callin’ an old man? You need to watch your manners, boy,” Galton retorted. “Anyways, who said anything about hiking? I know you used to be an active type before you up and crushed your leg here a few years back, what with all them triathlons and climbing up mountains like some fool goat, but seriously, how’re you holding up, not being able to do those things anymore, I mean?”

Caesar set his fork down and settled back in his seat. “The leg goes numb every once in a while, and it hurts when it rains. In fact, I can tell when rain is coming. The worst part is that it’s a constant reminder of her.”

“Gracie,” Galton murmured.

“A constant reminder of her death, actually,” Caesar said, and felt the lump in his throat that was always there when he talked about his late daughter. He forced himself to put the memories aside for now, promising himself—and Grace—that he would grieve properly and then get on with his life when this venture was over.

Silence fell between them for a few moments before Caesar cleared his throat. “I need to tell you more about the temple before we get there.”

Galton smiled. “I’m all ears.”

“It’s as mysterious as the artifact we’ve been searching for. Legends that have circulated for centuries seem to back up the information I read on the glyphs. They indicate that the knowledge and secrets of the temple were handed down from father to son for nearly 3,000 years, prior to the extinction of the tribe. But the knowledge wasn’t passed on until a son turned 70.”

Galton shot him a skeptical look.

“Typically, the males of their race lived to be at least 120 years old and seemed to be naturally resistant to disease. Their educational structure and rites of passage were very methodical, and mathematics played an integral part in almost everything.”

“I can understand that,” Galton said. “Numbers are our friends.”

“The man in charge, the tribal head, was known as the Keeper of the Key,” Caesar continued. “Each Keeper and all priests within this ancient tribe bore sons precisely at the age of 40, and they began training their children in their ways right after their first birthday. Each male was expected to bear seven sons, and as their fathers continued to teach them up to the age of 70, they in turn taught their sons what they had learned from their fathers. Thus the cycle continued for many generations.”

“Quite a system,” Galton said.

“Only one among the seven sons of a Keeper or a priest could be chosen as the next Keeper, however.”

“At the age of 70.”

Caesar nodded. “But they all remained together. It was a sevenfold failsafe, multiplied several times, in case anything happened to the chosen one. The tribe also had other members, ordinary tribesmen without rank, who themselves fathered sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons. Then there were the guardians of the temple, hunters and gatherers, farmers, medicine men, cooks, educators, craftsmen, builders, and others that carried on the day-to-day activities of the tribe. They had a healthy community with a functioning social structure that rivaled that of any civilized nation. Order was extremely important to them.”

“Sounds dandy,” Galton said.

“It was. In fact, only once in the history of the tribe were they forced to break from tradition. Something catastrophic happened that took the lives of all those in line to be the next Keeper, so the seat was passed to a daughter. She’s remembered as a great leader who, as the legend goes and the glyphs confirm, prevented what’s known as ‘the fall of knowledge.’ ”

Galton smiled and tugged his earlobe. “How do you know all this, Caesar? Seems like a lot of wild ideas to pull from a few cave drawings and campfire stories.”

Caesar fiddled with his fork and avoided Galton’s eyes for a moment. “I’ll tell you a secret, but you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Already think you’re crazy, son, so let’s hear it.”

Caesar looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve met the last Keeper of the Keys.”

“You’re crazy,” Galton said.

“At least I think I have,” Caesar added. He leaned over the table toward Galton and began speaking at a whisper. “One night in camp, I decided to sleep out under the stars, get some fresh air and all that. I started to doze off when I felt someone’s warm breath against my face. When I opened my eyes, an old man was kneeling over me. Before I could say anything, he held up his hand and blew some red powder in my face, and suddenly I couldn’t speak. I felt as if I was in a dream of some kind, but I’m almost certain I was wide awake. The powder had some kind of power over me, and I had about as much control over my body as a puppet.”

“Go on, you got my attention,” Galton whispered.

“He grabbed me by the hand, pulled me to my feet, and led me into the forest. We walked about a mile into the darkness with nothing but moonlight to guide us before we came to a small stream. He had me sit down beside it and told me to drink. While I drank, he told me his name and said he was 137 years old. Then he told me everything I’ve told you and more. He related a lot of information about his people that I can’t recall, though I’ve tried. The one thing I do remember is that his tribe had been attacked by local enemies and all of his sons were killed. The next thing I knew, I was back in camp and out of the trance. I would’ve thought it all a dream if the same thing hadn’t happened to me three times in a row.”

“Spooky,” Galton said.

“The old man spent each night with me, leading me to the same spot, always in silence and under cover of dark.”

“So what was his name?”

Caesar shook his head. “Can’t remember for the life of me. But on the last night he revealed more than I could ever ask, but I can’t remember all the important details. I do recall him saying that I wouldn’t remember certain things until it was time. The weird thing about it is that he spoke to me in another tongue, something ancient. I could understand everything he said, but I couldn’t identify the language. I’m sure I spoke to him in English, but somehow we could understand each other. I always wondered if it was the powder he blew in my face that made that possible. Like maybe it had magical properties or something. Who knows?”

“Apparently not us,” Galton said, leaning back in his chair. “Go on. Gimme the rest of it.”

“I asked him why he was sharing so many secrets with me. It took him a while to respond, since he was staring up at the night sky while chanting to himself for a few minutes. Eventually he looked at me with his vivid blue-gray eyes and said, ‘Because you are The One.’ ”

Galton sat up and propped his elbows on the table “The One?”

“ ‘The future,’ as he put it,” Caesar said. “He also told me that although I wasn’t 70 years old yet, I was chosen to be his successor through some kind of adoption. He said he’d become sterile, so another child was not an option. He said there wasn’t enough time to produce an heir even if he had been able. He seemed to know a lot about me. He said the reason I could be adopted was because of my personal bloodline.”

“You’re making my head spin, Caesar.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Tell me there ain’t no more.”

“There’s more.”

“Dang. Okay, hit me.”

“According to the legends and the glyphs, once the line of Keepers neared its end, a breech would have to be avoided by the installation of a suitable steward, one who would become the artifact—that is, if he managed to rise above the level of a mere substitute.”

Galton rubbed his chin and frowned.

Caesar shrugged. “If it sounds crazy to you, I assure you it sounded absolutely insane to me when the old guy laid it out. But on the very last night in the forest, he mentioned something that hinted at what was to come, which made me a believer. When I asked him to elaborate, the only thing he said was that the coming years would allow me to understand that the accident was never my fault. I had no idea what accident he could be referring to. Then, the very next day….”

“Gracie,” Galton whispered.

Caesar nodded. “So, all this crazy talk do anything to work up your appetite? What with me having waking dreams and men becoming artifacts. Pretty wild, eh?”

“Wild as a buckin’ bronco,” Galton said. “I’ll believe it when the proof is staring me in the face.”

Caesar tried to smile. “I hear you. Nevertheless, it’s hard to shake the feelings I was left with after the experiences of those three nights, followed by losing Grace.”

“Listen, son, when we hit this temple, and we plan on hitting it soon, you gotta focus your thoughts on getting at that priceless artifact they got buried somewhere under that capstone. And believe you me, I don’t need no proof of its existence. Something reliable tells me it’s there.”

“And what is this dependable source of yours?” Caesar asked.

Galton leaned back and patted his belly. “My gut, son, my gut.”