It wasn't uncommon for Brock to go out of country for a job. It was the best part of his job as a treasure hunter. So where was Brock now? In the middle of Machu Picchu. Tourists like he were standing around watching the sun disappear, some taking photos on their phones, others chatting secretly with one another. One man was busy taking photos of the scenery, a hat similar to his shading him from the sun.
Brock was standing in the center of the grassy main field, dilapidated buildings perched precariously on the flattened area that was Machu Picchu. Most of the tourists there took absolutely no notice of the tall man in a short sleeved white cotton shirt and beige khakis with hiking boats. Others glanced curiously at him, noticing his small black backpack, stiff fabric hat pulled low over his eyes, and the pistol tucked into the back of his khakis. Behind his map was several other slips of paper he'd gotten. He had in his hand three polaroid photos: the first was a hiking trail overgrown with dead bushes and loose dirt—how he'd gotten to the site—the second was a hard cliff face with long deep cracks, the third was Machu Picchu itself from on of the buildings. Next he had two small pieces of stapled lined paper with notes and diagrams scribbled all over. And another with a pencil drawing of the relic he had to get. It was a statue of sorts, supposedly rock with detail markings on it. Whatever it was, his employer was very keen to have it. And he was also very cautious about who knew how badly he wanted it.
Along with the polaroids photographing the area, Brock had also received one more. A man in similar clothing to his own, the stubble of a beard appearing on his chin with a stiff fabric hat pulled low over his bright blue eyes.
"He calls himself Terroriser…" Brock's employer had said as he smeared the end of his cigar into a ceramic bowl on the corner of his heavy mahogany desk. The back of Brock's throat closed off as he remembered the taste from the heavy cigar smoke in the air. "Be very careful of this man…he's the best in the business. He has a 100% success record, and is not afraid to kill to keep it. You need to be careful."
"He's the one who has to be careful. Because I don't plan on being easy to kill," Brock had replied, smiling smugly as he remembered his response. Cocky, yes, but no one ever said you had to be modest if you were pretty much a hiring treasure hunter.
The trail down to the cliff face was long and slippery from loose soil and dead plants, but Brock recognized the area from his Polaroid photo. Slipping it back into his back pocket, Brock pushed the stiff brim hat off his head so it hung around his neck with it's string. It was a silent night, and Brock was happy for it; less distractions. He pressed his palms against the flat rock, feeling around for what he knew hoped would be a way in. Of course his employer hadn't told him what he was looking for, that would be stupid. Yet in a rock so cut open and jagged like this, Brock felt certain there would be a trick, a hiding spot, a pressure point that would reveal the mountain's secret.
The snap of a camera behind him made Brock whirl but he froze. The person, a man in his late twenties maybe, was in a dark shirt with scruffy jeans and equally scruffy hair. A large expensive camera hung around his neck and his hiking boots looked freshly worn and in dire need of breaking in. The guy blinked startling pale eyes, a little scarred, a little sheepishly.
Brock blinked. He recognized him as the photographer as the photographer from earlier.
"You following me?" Brock asked, tilting his head to one side.
The man blushed slightly, letting out a nervous laugh. "Yeah…sorry," the man's Irish accent was thick, and his downward gaze melted Brock's anger away. "I have a bad habit of following pretty guys around and asking for photos…"
Brock felt a blush tinting his cheeks. He couldnt' get distracted by the cute, flirty guys, so he shrugged it off, turning back to the cliff face. "Can't take photos right now. I'm looking for something…"
He could hear the man's feet scrabble in excitement as he clumsily navigated the tangled brush. Brock smiled at the sounds of his struggle before the man joined his side facing the cliff.
"What are you looking for?"
Brock reached into his back pocket and pulled out the Polaroid of the cliff face. The man studied it for a while.
"Where did you get this?"
Brock didn't answer. Was there something close to the ground, maybe?
"My name is Brian, by the way. I don't think I told you that," the man laughed again. It was a sweet laugh, and Brock smiled inwardly at it.
"Brock," Brock replied, distractedly. Not close to the ground. Brock slot one hand into a deep crack of rock and slide it upwards, hoping for a sign.
"This photo…it hasn't been altered, has it?"
Brock stopped. He turned to look at Brian, who was glancing from rock to photo.
"Because there is a definite line in the rock of this photo, right here," Brian explained, placing a hand on the rock.
Brock joined him, running his own hands gently in a circular motion around the rock. Quickly, he found the line Brian had found in the photograph on the rock, and traced an almost doorframe in the rock. With a hard push, he felt it give.
"Give me a hand?" Brock glanced at Brian standing behind him, who nodded quickly and ducked onto the ground next to him. Brian's arms flexed, and the two pushed the heavy rock acting as a door away to reveal a small, dark passage.
Brock reached into his backpack to pull out a flashlight, shining it down the corridor. It was dusty and full of cobwebs. Brock swallowed hard; this one of the worst parts of his job.
"You're not going in there, are you?" Brian asked, alarm written across his face.
Brock laughed nervously. He didn't answer, he just chewed his lip.
Brian took it as a yes. "Well, let me come with you then."
Brock laughed again, glancing up at the man. "Why?"
"Oh come on! Big dark scary hole, cute American boy, this is a photographer's dream!" Brian grinned. Brock couldn't argue through his blush and fluttering heart, so instead crawled into the dark corridor, allowing Brian to follow.
It was a narrow corridor, cobwebs hanging everywhere and the scraping a stone against palm and khakis pants cut into Brock. He could already see an opening on the other end where the hallway got larger and narrower. Brock stood in the new space, holding a hand out to help Brian stand in the small space.
Light from some unseen source trickled down through disturbed dust particles. Sandy dust covered the floor, and Brock could make out the faint outline of what looked like several bones in the dust.
Brian breathed in slowly behind him as he craned his neck to see. "Are those…"
Brock nodded: skeletons. He bent down to lift one bone out of the dusty sand, examining it before putting it back. This must of been a burial spot for the residence of Machu Picchu. Standing, Brock pointed his flashlight down the hallway again: it got narrower.
"Still interested in following me?" Brock teased, glancing behind him to see Brian bent down to photograph several of the bones. Brian looked up, grinning a little stupidly.
"You're kidding, right? This is absolutely fantastic!"
Brock grinned at him again, watching as Brian ducked back down, taking several more photos before they moved on. Watching him however, Brock frowned. There was something else a little familiar about this guy. It was something in the pale eyes, in the way he stood up, stretching, completely at ease with the situation.
The passaged narrowed alarmingly fast, the two pressed into a narrow crack barely big enough for either of them to squeeze through sideways. After crawling through the rich squeeze, a ledge nearly seven feet above blocked their path, and Brock had to give his flashlight to Brian to hold. Brock clambered up using the close walls before leaning back over the pull Brian up. But Brian didn't need help, he just handed Brock the flashlight and his camera before scaling the walls himself. Brock raised an eyebrow impressed, making Brian laugh.
"Take extreme photos and you tend to pick up a few tricks," Brian shrugged.
They could hear water running, and around several tight corners, the passageway opened up to reveal an underground river low enough for the two stand up straight in.
"This must be the river that feeds Machu Picchu's fountains," Brian observed, glancing up and down the river following Brock's flashlight.
Brock reached into his pocket again, pulling out the stables paper notes he had along with the Polaroid shot of the Machu Picchu grounds. One of the notes was a diagram of the river, and Brock hoped cross referencing the two would lead him to the treasure.
He felt Brian breathing over his shoulder.
"Where did you get all this stuff from?" Brian asked innocently. Brock shrugged it off, pointing his flashlight down river.
"This way," Brock motioned, jumping into the river and slipping a little on the slipper rocks under the water. He felt water crawl up his back and he shivered, blushing at Brian's laughter and help as the later straightened Brock up.
"Still avoiding the question, huh?" Brian pried, following Brock into the shallow river tugging at both of their legs now. "I mean, you don't have to tell me, but I am following you in a small passage layered in rock."
"Which you didn't have to," Brock pointed out. He held the flashlight in his mouth so he could compare the river diagram with the Polaroid. They were close.
"Are you an Indian Jones?"
Brock frowned, and glanced behind him. Brian was frowning back, utterly confused. Brock shook his head.
"Lara Croft?"
"No, I'm neither," Brock replied, exacerbated from the questioning already and removing the flashlight from his mouth. "I'm just exploring."
"Very few notes and guides for an explorer," Brian observed. "As well as a pistol."
Brock stiffened and turned on Brian, but too late. Brian was already holding the pistol and his guides, a familiar smirk creeping onto his face as Brock. It clicked in Brock's head now, and Brock felt his stomach drop as he recognized who this was.
"Terroriser…" Brock growled.
"Moo Snuckel…" Terroriser greeted him with a sarcastic nod.
"I should have known it was you," Brock cursed himself.
"Lemme guess. You had my photo too?" Terroriser nodded the gun at Brock's rear. "Turn around, lemme see that fine arse or yours again."
Brock turned, setting his jaw and narrowing his eyes as Terroriser reached into his back pocket and pulled out it's contents. He thumbed through it quickly before saying "I think I'll let you keep this photo," tucking back the Polaroid of him and throwing the rest of the guides in the water.
"You know, for someone as brilliant as you," Terroriser sighed, readying the pistol. "You're awfully gullible to a little flattery."
Brock sighed. "Yeah, you're right," Brock admitted, before raising his head and allowing a smirk to creep into his lips. "But at least my fine ass kept you from noticing that pistol is useless when wet."
Terroriser didn't have time to register what it meant before Brock smacked the pistol from his hand and threw a punch that spun him against the wall. With a dive, Brock took off down the river, his feet slipping on the rock bottom and pistol forgotten. Behind him was the splashing of Terroriser as he took off after him. His flashlight light up the river ahead of him, and Brock could already see the drop where the river moved away from Machu Picchu and down the mountain. He could also see the path around the drop that led up to a dry ground that was Brock's target.
"You can't keep running, Moo!" Terroriser's voice echoed off the walls. Brock's heart was pounding as he pushed himself against the wall, praying he wouldn't slip and fall down the hole leading the water away from Machu Picchu, and clambered up the wet but solid rock above the waterfall hole. Scrambling to his feet, Brock took off up the slight incline, Terroriser's splashing footsteps closing in on him. Without his notes, Brock was flying blind and with Terrorier's threatening shouts and methodic footsteps following his own, Brock could feel panic clutching his chest.
But then the corridor opened up. Brock skidded to a stop to discover a small rectangular room with a low ceiling and decorated walls. Engravings on the wall as well as floor caught shadows in Brock's flashlight as he surveyed the room, but when his flashlight reached a low sitting pedestal in the center of the room, his heart sunk.
Terroriser's footsteps caught up to him now, and Brock felt the Irishman breathing down his neck with a heavy laugh.
"Dead end?" He purred into Brock's ear, pushing him aside and into a wall. He took the flashlight himself, but when he saw the pedestal, his face fell as well.
Empty. The fucking thing was empty.
Brock groaned, hitting his head against the wall and screwing his face up. Idiot.
"I…" Brian stuttered. "I don't understand…"
"We've been played," Brock groaned. "We weren't the only ones."
Terroriser turned on Brock, shinning the flashlight as Brock's chest so as not to blind him. Brock could see the confusion and betrayal on his face.
"But, I was told to look out for only you…"
Brock nodded, sighing?
"Yeah, well so was I: "Watch out for Terroriser, he's the best in the business." Guess there is someone better, because they managed to get away with a relic worth ten thousand to my employer," Brock rolled his eyes and leaned his hands on his knees.
Terroriser was silent for a second. "Ten thousand, huh?"
Brock smiled, nodding. "Yep. Ten thousand."
"I'm only getting seven," Terroriser mumbled, then after a few moments of silence, burst into laughter. Brock laughed along with him. Two idiots, soaking wet, sitting in a tiny room under Machu Picchu. Together, some rich men were spending seventeen thousand dollars for two treasure hunters to sit in that room and laugh.
"Well then," Terroriser managed to get out, straightened himself and taking a deep breath to calm himself. "We can't let someone be better than us."
Brock frowned, looking at the darkened face of Terroriser. He couldn't make him out with the flashlight shining right on his chest, but slowly, Brock began to understand what Terroriser was hinting at. And the more he thought about it, the more Brock started to like that plan even more than the original one.
The hotel was crummy and run down, the latch on the window was easy to break, and the relic treasure that was Terroriser and Brock's target was in a small plastic bag left in the dresser. The only problem was how badly the floorboards in the room squeaked.
Brock cringed again as another squeaked, turning slowly to catch Terroriser's also cringing eye and glare at him.
"Be quiet!" Brock hissed. Terroriser mouthed "sorry" before continuing to raid the rival treasure hunter's bags. He was looking for any sign of who his employer was, Brock was simply sliding the relic carefully into his backpack. The room was a two room set up, a double bed at one end of the elongated hotel room, a door on one side leading to the bathroom. At the other end of the main room was a couch with several bookshelves and a desk with an old chair at it. On the desk were backpacks and paperwork, even a cellphone Terroriser had been busily skimming for info. Between these two set ups was a closet/cabinet furniture piece in which Brock had found the relic, sealed tight in a plastic sealable bag and wrapped in rags for safe transport. The relic was stone, intricate engravings of what appeared to a ritual sacrifice adorned it's hard, oval shaped, surface. It was nothing spectacular to Brock, but he'd handled far more expensive items than this before.
Then, a murmur made both men start and turn towards the bed. The rival treasure hunter was asleep, okay, but it was a light sleep. With a quick glance at Terroriser, Brock knew it was time to go.
As carefully as he could, Brock tip toed across the small hotel room towards the tiny window again, Terroriser following him.
Brock pushed the window outwards gently, cringing at the long, gentle creak that came from it. He didn't dare move for another thirty-seconds, waiting with baited breath to see if the treasure hunter in their bed would wake up. When he didn't, Brock crawled out the window and dropped onto the box underneath the window. Terroriser was next, and Brock held the man's waist to help as he dropped down too.
The two clambered silently down to the alley below. Brock took off at a dead run, Terroriser keeping pace at his side as they bolted down the side streets and back into the still busy main streets. Only then did the two men skid to halt, leaning on their knees with the palms of their hands as they caught their breath and laughed.
"Well then," Terroriser chuckled, straightening up and looking around. "Airport is that way, I guess you'll be heading off then?"
Brock stood too, looking at Terroriser. His shaggy brown hair was wind swept, and his bright eyes shone in the low light. Brock sighed, realizing he could loose himself in those eyes for an eternity.
"Take it," Brock said suddenly, handing the small black bag to Terroriser, who starred perplexed at him. "Get the first plane out of here. Keep that 100% success record," Brock smiled at him. The intense blue eyes met his brown ones then, and Brock frowned at his reluctance.
"You know, maybe a 100% success record is a little too unrealistic," Terroriser thought allowed, winking at Brock. Brock felt his heartbeat pick up again as he understood.
"Maybe, just this once, I'm not the best in the business…?"
Terroriser pushed the small black backpack back into Brock's hands, smiling kindly at him. Brock starred at him, mouth slightly open in disbelief.
"I…I don't know what to say…"
"If you give me a cut of the reward money, I'll say we had a glorious fight and you beat me in a battle of brute force and will," Terroriser teased. There were others on the busy street around them, but Brock didn't notice them. He only saw Terroriser, Brian, in front of him. Brock pulled him suddenly into a hug, which was warmly reciprocated.
"How does 20-80 sound?" Brock grinned into Terroriser's soft neck.
"Oh if that's how you're gonna place this, I'll take the relic back," Terroriser joked, letting go of him before gently slapping Brock's ass in the direction of the airport.
"I'll see you around?" Brock asked, hopefully, turning back to look at Brian one last time. Brian smiled, rolling his eyes, and placing a gentle hand on Brock's face before leaning against Brock's lips in a quick kiss of fireworks.
"Now, you have to," Brian winked, before turning away with a final glance and disappearing into the crowd. Brock was still for a moment, before taking off at a fast passed walk. He was heading to the airport, back to Los Angeles where he would deliver the relic to his employer, collect the ten thousand, then find Brian.
His greatest treasure hunt, his hunt for Terroriser, for the greatest treasure hunter working today, for Brian, was only just beginning.