Read Gold of the Gods for Free Online

Lines,
crosses, circles and numbers tumbled across
the page as if the mapmaker had been
grappling with a complex set of
mathematical equations rather than the
location of a Lost City.
    In the bottom right-hand corner was a
circle with a cross roughly drawn across it.
'Compass rose,' said Beck, stabbing his
finger at the map. 'Well, at least we know
which way we're facing. These old maps
were very basic – the conquistadors had no
reliable instruments for plotting their
position.' Beck remembered his time with
the Tao tribe in the South Pacific, learning
to navigate with the stars.
    'Some of these numbers must be nautical
miles and I think it's divided into sections.
This bit here must be the coastline, roughly
where we are now. Look, here!' He pointed
to where the word Cart had been written
next to the rough outline of a castle. 'This
must be Cartagena. And this' – he pointed
to a miniature symbol of a Spanish galleon
further along the coast – 'must be where
they landed when they found the city the
first time.'
    Along the bottom of the map was a
signature that reminded Beck of a document
signed by Queen Elizabeth I he had once seen
in a history book at school. Above a series of
florid curves and flourishes were the words Gonzalo de Castillo with Año de Nuestro Señor written in smaller letters underneath, followed
by some Roman numerals: MDXXII.
    'Fifteen . . . twenty . . . two,' stumbled
Christina, peering hard at the numbers. 'I
knew those boring Latin lessons would
come in handy one day. That was the year of
Gonzalo's death. He must have hidden this
map not long before he died.'
    'Or was murdered, like the legend says,'
muttered Marco darkly.
    His words were interrupted by the sound
of a bell clanging in the courtyard outside.
The teenagers jumped guiltily, as if they had
been caught red-handed in the middle of a
bank robbery.
    'Quick,' said Marco. 'There's someone at
the front door of the hacienda. We mustn't
let anyone see the map or the amulet.' Beck
quickly folded the parchment and slid it
into his back pocket, then hung the amulet
of the toad around his neck and tucked it
under his shirt as Marco and Christina
replaced Gonzalo's portrait on the wall.
    Marco led the way back across the
courtyard and along the corridor towards the
main entrance of the house. Through
the stained glass of the front door they could
see the flashing blue lights of police cars and
the familiar outline of the peaked cap of an
officer of the Colombian police force. Señora
Cordova was already at the door.
    Ramirez was in no mood for pleasantries
as he strode past Marco into the hall. The
harsh click-clack of his leather boots on
the flagstones echoed loudly around the
walls. He was greeted by a screech and the
sound of flapping wings. Beck looked up to
the balcony, where the family's pet parakeet
was hopping from leg to leg on the banister,
cocking a nervous eye at this unwelcome
intruder.
    Ramirez stared up at the bird with an
expression of ill-disguised malice. Señora
Ramirez was an expert cook and would
surely know a tasty recipe for stuffed roast
parakeet.
    He spun round to address the three
teenagers. ' Buenos días, amigos ,' he said,
before launching into a volley of quick-fire
Spanish. Gone was the oily mask of concern
of the previous evening, when he had
escorted them back to the hacienda. Today
it had been replaced by impatience verging
on rudeness.
    Expressions of disbelief and anger flitted
like dark shadows across the faces of the
twins. Beck recognized only one word of the
policeman's speech. But it was enough to
make his heart freeze. The horrified look on
the twins' faces confirmed his worst fears.
Señora Cordova gasped.
    There was a brief silence as Ramirez let
the impact of his words sink in. When he
continued, it was in short bursts, as if
he were giving orders. Marco nodded
sullenly and shot brief glances at his sister,
who was still staring at Ramirez in disbelief.
    And then, as suddenly as he had arrived,
Ramirez