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was gone. Outside, a flunky
saluted and opened the door of a police car
bearing the crest of the Chief of Police of
Cartagena. Ramirez sank into the comfortable
leather seat before barking an
instruction at the driver. In the distance
Beck saw the electric gates swing open and
a pair of armed guards saluted and stood to
attention.
    The single word still echoed in his brain.
    ' Narcotráficantes ,' repeated Marco, reading
Beck's mind. 'Drug traffickers.'
    'Ramirez says he thinks Dad and
Professor Granger have been kidnapped by
one of the drug cartels,' explained Christina
in a stunned monotone. She let out a long
groan and put her head in her hands. 'I'm
just so worried about them.'
    Marco shook his head and took a deep
breath. 'Ramirez says it's more important
than ever that we don't leave the hacienda.
He says it's for our own safety. All calls to
the hacienda have been diverted to police
HQ. There's an armed guard on the gate.
Basically, we're prisoners too.'
    The horrified silence was broken only by
the eerie cawing of birds in the palm trees
outside the window. After what felt like an
age, Beck broke the spell. 'We've got to do
something. We can't just sit on our butts
and let this happen to Uncle Al and Mayor
Rafael. What if Ramirez is wrong and the
gang are more interested in looting the gold
from the Lost City? Why don't we just give
Ramirez the map? Then the police can get
there first and ambush the gang when they
arrive.'
    'It's too risky,' Christina insisted with a
toss of her curls. 'And anyway, Dad hates
Ramirez. He says he's a trigger-happy fool.
No one trusts him. He'd probably end up
killing them, not saving them.'
    'But now that we have the map, we must
at least try,' said Beck. 'We owe it to Uncle
Al and your father. If we can't trust the
police, then we'll just have to find the Lost
City ourselves. Surely there must be some
way out of here?'
    'There's chain-mail fencing all the way
round the grounds on three sides, right the
way down to the sea,' replied Christina. 'We
could always fly. Got any other good ideas?'
Her eyes were turning red and watery.
Marco stretched out an arm to comfort her
but was brushed irritably aside.
    Beck was too wrapped up in his own
thoughts to pay attention. 'I'm telling you,
we can get away from here without Ramirez
noticing. He's a goon, Christina. You know
that better than anyone.' He paused. 'Come
with me, guys,' he said after a while. 'I've
got an idea . . .'
    Beck led the way into the formal dining
room at the front of the house. Early morning
sunlight was streaming through the
French windows that opened out onto a
terrace, from where steps led down to a
manicured lawn. Beck walked over to a glass
display case. 'It was one of the first things I
noticed when we arrived,' he said. 'I just
couldn't keep my eyes off it. I think it's one
of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
It's also given me an idea.'
    'It's gold filigree work,' said Christina,
opening the top of the glass case. Inside lay
a delicate gold object on a bed of blue
velvet. 'Dad forbids us ever to touch it
because it's so valuable.'
    In front of them lay a miniature model of
a raft. Matchstick men stood on a square
platform of logs lashed together with rope.
One held a tiller while another brandished a
spear and gazed over the side into the sea of
blue velvet. On the mast a rectangular sail
was operated by two gold braids.
    'It's like a spider's web made with gold
fibres,' said Christina. 'It belonged to
Gonzalo. We think it was made by the
Indians who lived in the Lost City. The
Kogi people we told you about who still live
in the jungle. Remember?' She paused.
'Like the Indian man you thought you saw
in the square last night.'
    A flicker of pain passed over Beck's face as
the memory returned. The man's eyes still
burned brightly in his memory, but now
even he was beginning to think he had just
imagined the Indian in the heat and the
chaos. And anyway, his mind was on other
things now. The garden of the