CHAPTER 61

With Milagros’s expert knowledge of the jungle, we came to a secluded rise above the vine-choked ruins of what had once been a major Incan temple.

The temple wasn’t much. Just a stone altar set in front of a wall of stacked boulders that glowed like an angry face in the orangish twilight of the setting sun. Nathan and Chet Collier and maybe six other goons, their ATVs parked off to the side, stood in a circle with our old friend the cult’s high priest and his knife-wielding buddy Supay.

They were surrounding the stone table in the center of the clearing.

The ancient Incan altar where Storm lay!

But the sacrifice hadn’t started. Storm was just being Storm.

“I need to sack out,” she said with a yawn, stretching out on the stone slab. “Exhausting couple of days. Next time, you guys should bring a spare ATV so your prisoner doesn’t have to walk!”

“Why did you lead us to these ruins?” demanded Collier.

“Because that’s what the secret map said to do.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe so you could cleanse your spirit before you press on to Paititi. I know you should definitely cleanse your shorts. I can smell them way over here—”

“Silence!” decreed the phony priest, who was all decked out in full Incan garb. He was carrying that golden corncob staff like the drum major in a marching band. “Watch your tongue, for this is your final night on earth. Tomorrow, as the sun rises, your heart will be offered to Inti, the god of the sun!”

“Um, not to rain all over your delusional parade,” said Storm, feisty as ever, “but if I remember correctly—and I always do—to re-create the sacrificial rite of capacocha, you need a child chosen for his or her perfection, not just the first kid you grabbed in a blowgun raid. I’m pretty sure your sun god is looking for someone who, according to everything I’ve memorized, is healthy, strong, beautiful, and pure. Well, I’m coming down with a cold. Either that or I’m allergic to torture. I’m also not very strong. In fact, I’m probably the weakest member of my family. And, yes, I am beautiful, but not in what you’d call the traditional sense. As for purity? Let’s be honest, guys. The only thing I know that’s pure is a bar of floating soap—”

“Silence!” shouted the high priest again.

“Knock it off,” said Nathan Collier.

“You’ll have to do,” added his son. “Sorry. You’re the only child we’ve got.”

The two Incas eyeballed Chet.

“Whoa. Back off. I turned eighteen on my last birthday.”

“Whatever,” said Storm. “Now, like I said, if I’m going to be your big important sacrifice, I need to get my beauty rest.”

“Fine!” said Collier. “But in the morning you will take us to the gates of Paititi!”

“No,” whispered Dad from our hidden listening post. “Storm’s not taking them anywhere.”

“Why not?” asked Tommy.

“Because we’re going to rescue her!”