"Foster, Alan Dean - Cat-a-lyst" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

Manco regarded him pityingly. "Ah; un verdadeg loco. You are a crazy greenie. I might have guessed." "What makes you think you can get people to come to this sauna that bites, even if you put a roof over the whole thing and air-condition it?" Ashwood wanted to kaow.
FernAndez wore the look of the calculatedly mad. "Marketing." "You're crazy, all of you. Not that it matters. There ain't no treasure here." "Shut up, old woman!" Da Rimini snapped at her.
Ashwood glared. "Don't call me an old woman, she-weed. If my hands weren't tied . . ."
Though Da Rimini had twenty years and plenty of pounds on
Ashwood, Carter didn't think he'd care to bet against his companion in a
fair fight.
The Amazon, however, wasn't interested in a fight of any kind. Not while her associates wielded automatic weapons. "You can't kill all of us," Ashwood insisted.
Da Rimini feigned astonishment. "Why not? No one will find you out here. After we bury you the ants and other scavengers will reduce you to bones inside a week." "You know," Carter said tersely, "you were a lousy date."
She ignored him as she began unpacking their supplies. "You don' mind if we use your tools, do you? They are just lying here doin' nothing." She hefted a flashlight and pick while Blanco Ferndndez unfolded a
collapsible shovel. "Incaworldl" A startled Manco whirled and aimed the muzzle of his gun in the direction of the unexpected shriek. Everyone else turned to look. "Fabulous concept, truly real. Visionary!" A figure stepped out of the trees.
Carter slumped. Evidently a callous God intended to visit one final ignominy upon him.
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"Wonderful idea!" Trang Ho advanced, holding her microcassette re-
corder out in front of her. She was barely sweating. "Marvelous!"
Da Rimini noted Carter's reaction. "Who is this . . . person?" she asked warily. "Her name's Trang Ho," Carter muttered. "She's a free-lance journalist . . . and I use the term advisedly."
Ignoring the AK-47, Ho thrust the recorder at Manco Ferndndez's face. "Sir, would you tell my readers more about your fantastic plans!"
The gun muzzle dipped. "You are really interested, aren't you?" "Of course. You give me information, I give you a story." Ferndndez's reply was interrupted by Da Rimini, who was studying the jungle from which the diminutive Vietnamese had emerged. "Where's your guide? Where's the rest of your party?" "Oh, I came alone," Trang Ho informed her cheerfully.
Manco eyed her in disbelief. "You followed us by yourself?" "I always work alone." She started slipping off her modest pack. "Excuse me. This is getting heavy." "How did you track us?" Blanco asked. "Are you kidding, man? I'll track a story anywhere. Besides, it was like following a bulldozer. And my people were raised in the fetid, steaming jungles of Southeast Asia." "Yeah, but you were raised in Canoga Park," Carter reminded her. "Well," she said defensively, "L.A.'s kind of a jungle." "You want to help publicize our plans?" Manco inquired uncertainly. "All that I can. In return for exclusive publication rights, of course."
Ashwood raised her voice. "While you were taking notes did you happen to hear that these people plan to kill all of us?" "Do you think I'd miss anything as dramatic as that?" Ho was clearly insulted. "That has nothing to do with me. With a little rewriting it will only add punch to my articles." "Now, wait a minute," Carter began, trying to rise.
Da Rimini was studying the latest arrival to what was becoming a very crowded lost city. "You mean this, don' you?" "Certainly. As Jason Carter can attest, I have no morals whatsoever and my employers have less." She smiled exuberantly. "If we did, our business wouldn't exist." She turned to Carter. "I am sorry, but look at it this way: think of the press you'll get. People will forget all the lousy pictures you've made in the rush to immortalize you. I'll personally see to it that whoever they cast in the film version of your life is a better actor than you are." "You're not just going to watch them shoot us," he declared uneasily.
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"Of course I am. They have two very large automatic weapons. I have a little knife. What else can I do?" "Then you'll report them if you make it back to Lima," Ashwood said. "Why should I? You'll already be dead. It would be a waste of a great story." "Justice would be served," Fewick pointed out. "I'm not in the business of serving justice," Ho informed him. "I'm a
reporter, for Buddha's sake! If I were anything less than a total pragmatist I never would have been able to lift myself out of the stinking, crowded L.A. Vietnamese ghetto." "I heard that your father was vice-president of a major bank," Carter said. "Details." She turned back to Manco. "I think your Incaworld is a
terrific idea."
No one had noticed that the three Indians, disgusted with what was
taking place and disliking a crowd, had quietly picked up their few belongings and slipped away into the selva.
While Trang Ho followed Blanco Ferndndez and Da Rimini toward the nearest opening in the wall, Manco found himself a resting place and relaxed, cradling his rifle in his lap. Carter found himself watching the jungle. By this time he half expected someone to emerge in Trang Ho's wake, but the passing hours brought forth only bird noises and the rus-
tling sounds made by secretive, unseen creatures. "I wonder if that big tom of yours hurt Macha," he said. "Moe's not a vicious animal." Fewick regarded the verdure. "Is yours spayed?" "I've no idea, but I'd doubt it." "I never had the heart to have Moe neutered, so it is possible they are
enjoying this sojourn more than we." "Anybody got any suggestions?" Ashwood murmured softly so that Manco Ferndndez would not overhear. "There was a palo santo not far back along our trail," Igor told them. "If one stood with his back to the tree, the ants would come out and eat through the ropes. Unfortunately they might also eat much of one's hands before weakening the ropes sufficiently for one to break free." "Good suggestion," Ashwood observed. "We'll wait for you to get back. "
It was late afternoon when screams erupted from the vicinity of the third and farthest opening in the Inca wall. "Cave-in?" Ashwood ventured hopefully.
Igor twisted to look. "I'm afraid not." Da Rimini and Blanco Femdndez were running toward the campsite.
76 Alan Dean Foster
Trang Ho followed, her half-frame camera working furiously. Even at a
distance the glint of sunlight on metal was impossible to mistake.
Manco rose to stare. The prisoners tried to. Blanco had slung his rifle. Now he passed the contents of his cupped palms to his brother. Hairpins, pieces of necklace, earrings, and household utensils tumbled to the ground, overflowing from Ferndndez's hands.
Every one of them was fashioned of dull, yellow gold. "That's nothing." Da Rimini's expression was wild. "Look at this." She unwrapped the towel from the object she was carrying. It caught the setting sun along with everyone's breath.
The plate was half an inch thick and eighteen inches in diameter, solid gold, inscribed with designs and symbols inlaid with turquoise. The raised outer rim was lined with twenty-one emeralds, each the size of a
silver dollar. "That's it." Ashwood straightened. "They'll kill us for sure now."
Da Rimini gazed haughtily down at Fewick. "Miral There is more
inside, much more. You did not have enough confidence in your own research." She glanced over her shoulder. "The last opening leads to a small cave, the far end of which is lined with broken stone. It was a wall which had collapsed, perhaps from an earthquake. We dug and broke through to another, much bigger cave.
The floor is of Inca stonework. So are the bins which are filled to overflowing with artifacts like thisl" She turned the plate and it threw sun-
light into the trees. "We left in a hurry to bring Manco the news, but I saw at least one clay pot full of emeralds, another of gold figurines. We did not walk the length of the cavern but we saw enough to know that this is truly the Paititi of legend. This is the place where the Incas hid the treasure the conquistadores never found. Riches beyond imagining."
Manco Ferndndez held a necklace of heavy gold up to the setting sun. "Incaworld!" he proclaimed, his fingers clenching around the strand. Visions of millions of eager visitors filled his thoughts, and they were all buying Inca Cola and fried chicken and T-shirts.
The following day the prisoners were herded into the cave. Not so they could view the treasure, but because it made it easier for their captors to keep an eye on them. Though they could see little because the Ferndndez brothers were using the lights, Fewick, at least, was ecstatic. "This is unprecedented." Blanco Ferndndez directed them to a depression in the floor and ordered them to sit. "The quality of the stonework both underfoot and in the bins is superb. The Incas were not known for building underground."
Cat - a - Lyst 77
"What I would like to know," said Igor, "is what happened to the people who built this place and hid this treasure here?"
Fewick considered. "Perhaps they left to join in the fight against the Spaniards and the location was lost as the builders were killed. Or as the empire disintegrated they may have intermarried with the jungle peoples, or been wiped out by them. The fallen wall sealed this part of the cave, and in any case the local Indians would be reluctant to enter an obviously sacred place. Though clearly not to visit the site."
They were forced to sit there most of the day while their captors loaded backpacks with the choicest artifacts and jewels. The only conso-
lation was that it was much cooler inside the cave than out in the sun.
When they decided they could carry no more, Carter knew, Da Rimini would carry out her sentence. Oddly he found himself worrying not for himself but for Macha, who had not returned since being chased into the jungle by Fewick's cat. "Hey, what's this?" Concern resounded from the depths of the cavern