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hacienda was
surrounded by a fence all the way down to
the sea . . . Surely Ramirez's men would not
look for them there.
    Marco's voice broke through his
thoughts. 'When Gonzalo arrived in South
America, the first time they saw the Indians
was on the sea. The Spanish cronistas –
historians – made drawings of the rafts they
used. They looked almost identical to this
one.'
    Beck studied the raft closely, screwing up
his eyes as he inspected the delicate gold
web. 'Time for a walk,' he said suddenly.
    The twins followed as Beck led the way
onto the terrace. The scent of ripe peaches
hung in the morning air like perfume. On
the far side of the lawn, the jungle that
surrounded the hacienda on three sides
closed in again – the fence that ran around
the grounds was out of sight from here,
buried in the undergrowth. As they made
their way along a path skirting the jungle,
tendrils hanging from the branches of
the huge trees brushed past them like the
tentacles of giant jellyfish.
    They soon found themselves in a grove of
tall palm trees, where the undergrowth gave
way to sand, and saw that they had reached
a small bay. White spume seethed and
bubbled on the shore, where a steady stream
of rollers was breaking.
    'There's only one way out of here without
being noticed,' said Beck as they stared out
towards the horizon. 'And that's by sea. If
we can build a raft like the one the Indians
used, we can sail down the coast. That's how
Gonzalo found the Lost City, so why
shouldn't we?
    'You can see on the map that it's in the
mountains not far from the coast. If we're
lucky, we'll find it before the kidnappers.
Then we'll have the element of surprise. If
we sail tonight after it gets dark, by the time
Ramirez works out we've gone we'll be miles
away down the coast.'
    Beck had only just stopped speaking
when, from somewhere behind them, there
was a rustle of leaves in the bushes. For the
second time that morning, his blood ran
cold.
    A familiar voice broke the silence.
    ' Buenos días, amigos ,' said Ramirez.

CHAPTER SIX
    Beck's heart sank as the awful truth dawned.
Hiding in the undergrowth, following them
just out of sight, Ramirez the Reptile had
tricked them into revealing their plan to sail
down the coast and find the Lost City.
Their only chance of rescuing Uncle Al and
the twins' father was now gone.
    Drawing himself up to his full height,
Beck turned to confront the police chief
with a frosty glare. He was greeted by a loud
screech from behind the bushes, followed
by a burst of hysterical laughter. Marco and
Christina were shaking uncontrollably, tears
rolling down their cheeks.
    'Will someone please explain—?' began
Beck.
    ' Buenos días, amigos ,' spat Ramirez for the
second time. His words were greeted with a
renewed explosion of mirth as Marco and
Christina doubled up once more.
    'Ringo! Stop that, Ringo!' shouted
Christina as she disappeared behind the
bushes.
    Beck looked on in amazement, hardly
able to speak. 'Will someone please—?' he
began again as Christina reappeared, clutching
a flapping mass of brightly coloured
feathers that squawked loudly, while every
few seconds pecking at her earrings with
sudden darts of his head.
    'Señor Beck,' said Marco in a pompous
voice, as if they were in the presence of
royalty. 'May I introduce Don Ringo the
Gringo.'
    'Otherwise know as plain Ringo the
wicked parakeet,' added Christina. 'Dad
called him Ringo because beetles are his
favourite food' – she shook her head with a
despairing look – 'which he thinks is very
funny. When he was young, Dad was a
sailor on a ship that visited Liverpool and he
met John, Paul, George . . .'
    'And Ringo,' said Marco as the parakeet
jumped from Christina's arm onto his
shoulder while directing an inquisitive eye
at Beck. 'Ringo was Dad's favourite. He said
he never stopped cracking jokes . . .' He
paused and gave Ringo a sideways glare.
'Which I guess explains everything.'
    'Bingo!' exclaimed Beck, a huge smile
lighting up his face.
    'No,