The sun was clear and bright against the blue Cusco sky. Caesar looked at it as he hobbled toward two Humvees parked in front of the hotel. Although he had dressed in his jungle clothes, including cargo pants and pocketed vest, he didn’t feel like an intrepid adventurer. With his bum leg and recent poisoning, he dreaded the long trip and the physical challenges they would face at the temple site. He carried his own bags, but they felt heavy. Regaining his strength was proving to be more difficult than Caesar anticipated. But he was determined to soldier on in spite of his weakness.

Galton opened the passenger door of the rear Humvee as Caesar approached. He offered a cheerful “good morning,” took Caesar’s carryall, and tossed it in the back of the vehicle.

“How’d you sleep?” Galton asked, as Caesar climbed into the backseat.

“Like a hibernating bear.”

“Good, good,” Galton said, and climbed in next to Caesar.

The Humvees pulled away at Galton’s command.

“Where exactly are we heading?” Caesar asked, staring through his window as they left the quaint Cusco streets behind.

“Your new bodyguards in that other Humvee are taking us into the Amazon. El Capitán is setting up camp just outside the barricade that surrounds our temple.”

“And you’re sure he can be trusted?”

Galton nodded. “I cut him a sweet deal. He’ll protect us to the death till we hightail it outta there.”

“How long until we reach the site? I’m still a bit shaky.”

“Trip would take seven days by land and river, but we’re flying,” Galton said. “We got several stops along the way, though, including a connection in Lima, but you’ll make it, son, you’ll make it.”

“Sorry about the extra expense.”

“Never mind,” Galton said, with a backhanded wave of his hand. “Besides, we wanna get to the site before any ill-minded hombres beat us to the punch.”

“How’s the food situation,” Caesar asked. “I feel like I need to bulk up.”

Galton jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Got a few breakfast sandwiches and drinks in the back. Otherwise we won’t stop for food till we hit Iquitos, about four hours.”

Caesar turned around and saw a cooler in the back. “I’ve been to Iquitos,” he said, opening the lid. “Major port city in the Amazon basin.” He grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of tomato juice. “It’s only accessible by plane or boat.”

“That’s the one,” Galton said. “But we’re just passing through. Be a pretty rough ride from there on out.”

Rough ride. Caesar recalled the last time he had been to Iquitos. He and Grace had ridden around in a small rickshaw that registered every bump they hit, but she hadn’t complained once. A smile spread across his face as he remembered. “Better than a carnival ride, Daddy,” she had said, laughing. He couldn’t have disagreed more, but he loved her for her constant good cheer.

Caesar took a sip of juice and unwrapped the sandwich. “I’m ready to see the inside of that temple.”

“Good.”

The four hours went by quickly, each plane ride lasting about an hour. In Iquitos, they ate a big meal at a small restaurant and were soon back on the road, winding their way along the river in a couple of ancient jeeps they’d rented from one of El Capitán’s contacts.

They stopped near a small muddy inlet where local fishermen were unloading their catch. Caesar looked at the reddish-brown waters of the Amazon, barely visible through the dense vegetation living on its surface. Huge water lily leaves and bright green algae floated there, and majestic trees stood like sentries on the banks. He considered the vastness of the tropical rainforest, teeming with exotic wildlife. The sounds of melodious birdcalls, clicking native tree frogs, and buzzing cicadas filled the air. The vast scope and exotic beauty of the place was overwhelming.

Galton called out, snapping Caesar out of his reverie. He told him to get into one of the small fishing boats nearby, which the four bodyguards had loaded with their gear. The guards were settling into their seats, their leader giving instructions to the boat owner. Caesar walked gingerly across the mud, and Galton helped him get into the boat when he saw Caesar favoring his left leg.

“There ya go, sport,” Galton said, patting Caesar on the shoulder before settling in himself. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he added. “We’ll be changing boats at a dock up yonder.”

“Why are we changing boats?” Caesar asked.

“Need a river tug to get us where we’re going,” Galton said. “And these fishermen don’t like to venture too far from this part of the river.”

Caesar craned his neck to watch a hawk soaring overhead. “How long before we get to this other boat?”

“A few minutes, tops,” Galton said.

They set off and soon reached their destination. They slowed to a crawl, and the boat edged toward the dock, colliding with a wooden piling as it turned to line up with the wharf. The six men climbed out and waited on the landing for their next ride. Galton paced and muttered for fifteen minutes before they saw a dilapidated river tug heading toward them.

“Amazing that it still floats,” Caesar said to Galton after they boarded the ancient vessel.

Galton chuckled but said nothing. He was eyeing the boat captain, who was leaning against the handrails in front of the wheelhouse. At the captain’s insistence, everyone gathered on the main deck and listened as he barked orders with regard to the proper conduct on his vessel. As he did, Caesar noticed that he never looked anyone directly in the eye. His gaze was always aimed a little higher than the passengers’ heads. Caesar realized that the captain was blind.

Following his speech, the captain returned to the wheelhouse and maneuvered the tugboat on a slow course upriver along the murky waters of the Amazon. An hour into the trip, Caesar asked him how it was possible for a blind captain to steer his own vessel. “You have to feel the waters,” the captain replied. “Feeling is seeing. Feeling is seeing.”

They spent six hours on the water. When they arrived at their destination, the captain docked at a long pier and let the sputtering tug engine idle. Caesar shook his hand and thanked him before leaving with the others. They walked along wooden steps that protruded from the mud at the end of the dock and snaked a path to the edge of the jungle that lay before them.

As they made their way through ankle-deep mud that clung to their feet and grew heavier with each step, Caesar remembered a time when he could out walk or outrun just about everyone he knew. He’d been a fitness freak and a fine athlete before the accident, participating in marathons, triathlons, power hiking, and mountain climbing. He still had the trophies to prove it. Well, he used to have the trophies. Now they were rusting in a landfill somewhere.

They maintained a moderate pace, more for Galton’s sake than for Caesar’s, but Caesar was happy for the break. Although Galton blustered like a man who was hale and hearty, he was in average condition at best for a man his age.

They hiked along a narrow path and eventually arrived at a large clearing, bustling with people. Tents were set up all around, and several men were preparing a bonfire in the center of the camp.

“What’s going on?” Caesar asked Galton.

“They celebratin’ some kinda June festivity,” Galton replied. “Brazilian custom that peaks on what they call Saint John’s Eve. Told you El Capitán had gone all spiritual on me. His men must’ve followed suit.”

Galton turned to one of the bodyguards and gestured toward three large tents on the north side of the camp. “Which one’s his?” The bodyguard pointed to the one in the center.

“Come on, Caesar, it’s time you met the man responsible for our welfare in these parts,” Galton said as he sauntered over to the tent the bodyguard had indicated.

Three armed men in fatigues were stationed in front of the tent. When Galton introduced himself, they stepped aside and let him enter. Caesar ducked in behind him and tried to hide his shock when he saw El Capitán for the first time.

The man stood no more than five feet tall, Caesar estimated, and he was pudgy. Three crosses hung on chains around his neck. He held one in his right hand while mumbling something under his breath. War paint marked his face, like that of a tribal warrior, but it featured portions of the Peruvian flag. He wore army pants and military boots, but an olive poncho, typical garb for Peruvians, was draped over his shoulders. Galton walked over to El Capitán and began to address him in Spanish.

“Please, please,” the man said in a surprisingly deep baritone. “Let us speak English. I have to practice, my friend.” His speech carried a heavy Peruvian accent.

“Sure thing,” Galton said. “Hope we’re not disturbing you none.”

El Capitán let out a small laugh. “I just finished meditating.” He aimed a hand at a collection of large pillows that were piled on the floor across from him. “Please sit. Make yourselves at home.”

“Much obliged, but I think I’ll stand this one out,” Galton said.

Caesar nodded his thanks to El Capitán, and sat down. His bad leg had been bothering him since he’d been drugged, and it throbbed now. Walking through mud for an hour hadn’t helped.

“So, you made it to my little nest,” El Capitán said to Galton.

Galton rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Sure did. Listen, a fella could really use a drink. What are ya’ll holdin’ nowadays?”

“We still favor our pisco,” El Capitán said. “You care for some?”

“Maybe,” Galton said, which surprised Caesar.

“For you it will be the Quebranta bottle, Señor Galton.”

A wide smile creased Galton’s face. “The pure stuff.”

“Yes, my friend, of course. Not for you the—how do you say it—‘that blended swill.’ ”

Galton threw back his head and laughed, and El Capitán joined in.

El Capitán shouted instructions toward the tent entrance and a bottle of pisco materialized within minutes. Their host handed it to Galton, who took a swig from the bottle.

“Ah!” he said, smacking his lips. “That there’s good brandy.” He sat down next to Caesar, still holding the bottle.

“Many people have shown interest in your temple, Mr. Galton,” El Capitán said. “And not just government men.”

“You been keeping an eye on it, then,” Galton said.

“It is a stone’s throw, as you Americans like to say.”

“Who’ve you spotted?” Galton asked.

“Scientists mostly. And military personnel on guard. They are all gone now, though.”

Galton looked surprised. “Gone, you say?”

“The military convoy loaded up and left the area yesterday morning. We watched them go. For now, the temple is deserted and unguarded.”

Galton jumped to his feet, still clutching the pisco bottle. “What’re we waitin’ for? Have a couple of your men escort us there.”

El Capitán raised a hand at Galton to calm him. “It is best we wait for nightfall. I do not want to take any foolish chances.”

“Be best if we go at first light, actually,” Caesar said.

Galton looked at him. “I didn’t make this trek to sit in the middle of the jungle and stew, son.”

“Suit yourself,” Caesar said. “But it won’t do us any good.”

Galton turned to El Capitán. “You sure no one’s lurkin’ about over there? Probably some still inside the perimeter.”

“No one,” El Capitán replied. “And no one has entered the temple. Activity has been restricted to the outer perimeter.”

The tension on Galton’s face subsided, and he took another swig of pisco. He sat back down next Caesar and grinned. “Looks like we gonna be first after all, son.”