Andy was on a roll. “I didn’t want to say it when we found them, but the petroglyphs we found at T1 aren’t Incan. I wrote my dissertation on Incan petroglyphs, and they’re almost always linear and mazelike—nothing like the circular carvings we’ve seen here.”

With his arms crossed in front of him, Roth blurted out, “I’m surprised you had time to make these observations, what between your panic attacks and staring gaga at Farah all the time.”

Roth’s remarks threatened to derail Andy, but he fought his way back. “Also, the four-square-mile area where these ruins are scattered is a valley between several jungle hills.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, John, the Incas didn’t build their cities in valleys; they built them on the tops of mountains. Like Machu Picchu, for example. And they did this for the same reason that, in medieval times, castles were built in areas of elevation. To defend.

“The Incas had just been wiped out by the Spanish. They left Cusco, headed into the jungle, then traveled three hundred miles—what must have taken them months—only to build their city here?” Andy shook his head. “No way. They would have scouted a better defensive position. There aren’t any mountains nearby, but there are hills—hills that rise up three hundred, even five hundred, feet. If the Incas resettled around here, they would have built their city on one of these peaks.”

“Okay, wise guy,” Roth said with a scoff. “Then how do you explain the Incan artifacts?”

“The Incas definitely passed through here at some point. They encountered the ancient civilization that lived in this area and gave them gifts, which was their custom. Then they continued on until they found a more suitable location to build their city. Probably somewhere in the mountains of western Brazil.”

“So Paititi is in Brazil, and the Incas just flung a few treasures to these people as they passed by?”

“That’s my theory.”

Andy glanced around. Everyone was staring at him. Sadly, most of them were looking at him like you might look at the kid at the birthday party with the peanut allergy.

Roth laughed. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

Andy surprised himself again by saying, “You’re a fraud.”

“A what?”

“You act like you’re this great director of all these documentaries, but you don’t do shit. Libby”—Andy nodded at Libby, sitting cross-legged on the ground—“is the real genius behind the camera. You’re a glorified producer, and if you do decide to do any actual film making, it’s like you’re shooting a scripted reality series on VH1.” Andy took a breath and added, “John.”

“You little pip-squeak,” Roth said, rushing up the bank.