Night of the Condor (21 page)

The flight she was witnessing had a silent, powerful grace that no machine could hope to emulate.

'What are you staring at?' Evan was wiping the dirt from two polythene-wrapped packages, and looking at her sourly.

She pointed. 'There's a condor.'

'Big deal,' he said. 'It's only a bloody vulture, you know.'

Leigh shook her head. 'No, it's a magic bird.' Her mind went back to that night—the night of the condor, and she rehearsed the chant in her head until she could sing it aloud. '
O condorcito
.'

Even in daylight, it had a haunting, eerie sound, and it disturbed him, she could tell.

He said roughly, 'Are you out of your mind— singing to a damned bird?'

She said, 'It's a good omen.'

'It's ridiculous superstition.' She'd caught him off balance for the first time. 'You want to watch it, Leigh, or you'll end up going native, prancing round in a poncho, and a black hat with a baby tied to your back.'

She got to her feet, dusting off her jeans. 'I can think of worse fates,' she said calmly. As the huge bird swept in a wide circle above her head, she sent a silent prayer up to it. '
Condorcito
, you brought us together through your magic. Tell him where I am. Send him to find me.'

'That's enough bird-watching.' Evan was stowing his packages in the rucksack, before hoisting it on to his shoulder. 'Let's get going. We have still quite a distance to cover before nightfall.'

He was right, she thought, as they set off. It was superstition. But all the same, her glimpse of the condor had been absurdly comforting, and she craned her neck to watch it until it was out of sight.

As the sun began to go down, Evan's temper seemed to deteriorate with it. He was clearly regretting having brought her with him, and this frightened Leigh. How long would it be, she wondered, before he decided to abandon her on the
puna
, and would she be alive or dead when he did so?'

Their pace had slowed considerably, to her relief, and he seemed on edge, constantly scanning the sky, and the slopes of neighbouring peaks.

He stopped suddenly more than once, demanding, 'Do you hear anything?

'No.' It was the truth, but she was beginning to share his unease. The sense that they were not alone, and that unseen eyes were plotting their progress was an overwhelming one.

She thought hopefully, Rourke? but there was no answering lift in her heart, or warm stir in her blood. And soon it would be dark…

They were traversing with care the edge of a small tree-lined canyon when Evan pointed suddenly. 'Down there. Isn't that a roof?'

'I think it is.' Leigh peered uncertainly in the direction indicated. 'But how do we get down there?'

Almost before the words were spoken, she heard a noise like the distant crack of a whip and saw Evan stagger suddenly, his face wearing an expression of almost ludicrous surprise. He half turned to her as if he was going to speak and, incredulously, Leigh saw the crimson stain spreading on the front of his shirt. He was falling towards her, and she tried to get out of the way, only to feel the ground at the edge crumbling under her weight, then giving way completely. She gave one wild, terrified scream, then she was lost and falling, dried bushes and protruding roots tearing at her clothes and skin as she slid helplessly downwards.

Her descent was brought to an abrupt and bone-shaking halt. For a moment she lay, her eyes closed, her arms wrapped round her head to protect herself from the shower of earth and loose stones still raining down in her wake. Then that too stopped, and everything was still.

Leigh was still too, breathing quietly, amazed to find she still could. She began to test herself, moving each limb in turn to make sure nothing was broken or sprained. Then she lifted her head slowly and looked round. She was a mess, and she hurt all over, but she was intact, lying, as far as she could judge, on a narrow ledge.

There was no sign of Evan, but just to the left of her refuge, the bushes and stunted shrubs had been torn away as if something heavy had forced a passage down into the canyon.

She shuddered. But it didn't have to be Evan, she told herself. Perhaps he hadn't fallen into the canyon at all, but was lying, wounded, on the edge.

And as if to justify that belief, she heard the sound of movement above her. She was about to call out his name, when something—some sixth sense—kept her quiet, huddled against the rock face so that she was sheltered by the remaining bushes as well as the slight overhang.

Because it couldn't be Evan, she realised as nausea rose in her throat. Evan had been shot, and he was dead. She knew that now, although she had never seen anyone die before. She remembered the soundlessly moving mouth, the oddly blank eyes, and her whole body clenched in panic.

There was a presence above her—she couldn't gauge it more accurately than that—and she sensed it looking down. Looking for signs of life, she thought, her throat working convulsively. It was the anonymous presence she had sensed earlier. The presence which had dogged their footsteps, which had killed Evan, and had come to make sure of her, to verify the evidence of her scream and fall.

She was entirely motionless, controlling her ragged breathing in quiet desperation.

Silence seemed to wrap them both round, bonding them in a weird intimacy—Leigh, hiding on her ledge, and Evan's killer who wanted her dead too. It seemed endless.

At last she heard voices, a brief snatch of a conversation in Spanish which she vainly strained her ears, trying to comprehend.

Then, as if the sun had emerged from behind a cloud of darkness, the presence was gone. She was alone.

She didn't move for a while, hardly daring to believe her luck, telling herself it might be a bluff to coax her into the open. It was only when she sat up and took proper stock of her situation that she realised how foolish she was being.

The ledge, it seemed, was as far as she went. She got slowly to her knees, and then to her feet, reaching up wincing to the nearest clump of foliage and testing its strength, only to feel the shallow roots pull away in her hand.

To get up to the edge, she would need to climb, but the canyon face was too unstable to tackle without proper handholds. Or there was down.

She took a swift look, then shuddered, assailed by sudden giddiness. Below her was a sheer drop into the trees.

Rule One, she told herself shakily, was under no circumstances to look down. She checked each side of her, verifying what she already knew—that after the ledge she was occupying petered out, there was no other refuge.

It was a miracle that her fall had taken her over the edge at the only place where it could be broken, or so she had thought. Now she was beginning to think again. The ledge might not be a refuge after all, but a trap, from which she could move neither up nor down.

It came to her, chillingly, that she might come to wish she had fallen all the way and been killed outright.

The sun was almost down. Soon, too soon, it would be dark, and cold. She was shivering already with shock and fear, her teeth chattering. She would also soon be hungry and thirsty. She had no covering apart from her torn clothes, no food, and nothing to drink.

She drew her knees up to her chin, and wrapped her arms round them, trying to make herself as small as possible to conserve her body heat. She wouldn't, she told herself, even think about the clamour of empty stomach and dry throat. One problem at a time was enough.

If she took off one of her boots, she wondered if she could knock some hand and footholds in the steep canyon face with her heel, and scramble up that way. She swallowed. It was a forlorn hope, especially when the light was fading rapidly, and although she regarded herself as reasonably athletic, she had no actual climbing experience at all.

She sensed another movement, and shrank, biting back a terrified cry, only to discover it was the condor, swirling above the treetops in a wide dignified sweep.

It was a relief to see another living creature, she thought, rubbing her eyes wearily with the back of her hand, even though Evan had called it a vulture. Had it scented carrion—and was that why it was circling round the canyon now? The thought made her swallow sickly.

She thought shakily, If ever I needed magic, I need it now.
O condorcito
!

The next hour passed with agonising slowness. Apart from the physical discomfort of her scratches and grazes, Leigh was growing cramped and tired on the narrow ledge. She supposed if she lay down with care, she could sleep, but what would happen if she turned over in her sleep made her blood run cold. She would have to try and stay awake, she thought, altering her position slightly and painfully.

Then she tensed with disbelief as she heard voices. Oh God, surely it wasn't true! Surely Evan's killers hadn't returned yet again. She was paralysed with fright, unable this time even to draw herself back into the shelter of the overhang. If they looked down, shone a light, they would see her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

And then she heard her name called, hoarsely, des—as he had shouted it that day when she was nearly swept away in the river, she remembered. She licked her dry lips, trying to force her recalcitrant throat muscles to work, but she could only manage an answering croak. 'Rourke?'

'
Querida
!' No one had ever invested that word with so much feeling, she thought, staring up into the gathering darkness. She could see lights, so he was not alone. '
Querida
, where are you?'

'On a ledge, but I can't climb up. Everything just— gives way.'

Including herself, she recognised. She was near to tears suddenly, trembling as weakly as a newborn kitten.

'I'm climbing down.'

'No—it's not safe. You'll fall!'

'I have a rope. Keep still,
mi amada
.' Eternity passed then she heard the sound of scraping and slithering, and he was beside her. 'Are you hurt?' His hands touched her gently. 'Can you stand?'

'I think so,' she whispered, but she wasn't sure, and she was grateful when he lifted her with infinite care, holding her against him as he fastened the rope round her.

'Don't try to climb, or do anything. You'll be pulled up.'

'Yes.' There were tears mingling with the blood and grime on her face. I must look hideous, she thought. 'I'm sorry. It—it was my fault…

'Hush,
amiga
.' He tucked her hair back behind her ears, the simple movement a caress. 'We'll talk about it later. Now, up you go.'

Leigh had no idea who was at the other end of the rope, but they pulled her up as if she had been a featherweight, and there were hands at the end to pull her over the edge to safety. She collapsed on to her knees, the breath sobbing in her lungs as she looked round the circle of light at the faces surrounding her. Some she recognised instantly—Fergus Willard for one, and Jim Holloway who led the medical team. And the policeman with the moustache and the sad eyes. She tried to tell him she was sorry too, but no sound would come.

And then she saw the tall man pushing his way through the group, the rather harsh features twisted with concern.

'Leigh!' he exclaimed. 'My darling child, what's happened to you?'

He voice cracked. 'Daddy?' Then the lights went out, and the darkness swallowed her up.

The view from the hotel bedroom window was as spectacular as she had once surmised, but Leigh looked down on it with eyes that saw nothing but the bleakness of her own inner world.

Behind her, in the bedroom, she could hear swift efficient movements as one of the chambermaids packed for her, on her father's instructions. He was in his own suite, presumably finalising the arrangements for their flight back to the United Kingdom.

Leigh sighed soundlessly. A week had passed since she had been hauled bodily up the face of the canyon. A week during which a great deal had happened.

In spite of her protests she had been taken back to Atayahuanco on a stretcher, and flown the next day to a private clinic in Cuzco for a complete medical check-up. Apart from infection, Leigh knew that Justin Frazier had feared pneumonia from shock, but his worries had proved groundless.