Empire of Gold

‘What?’ said Nina in utter disbelief. ‘How the hell could he know we’re here?’

The aircraft moved out of sight. ‘What is going on?’ Zender demanded, caught between confusion and fear. ‘That helicopter - it was Venezuelan!’

‘It used to be one of yours, but it’s gone into the private sector,’ Eddie said grimly. He turned to the two soldiers. ‘You and you – with me, quick!’ The three men hurried away down the steps.

Zender still wanted answers. ‘Tell me what is happening!’

‘Stikes used the helicopter’s weapons to block the river and cut off the waterfall,’ Mac told him. ‘It’ll make it easier for his people to get into the cave.’

‘Who is Stikes?’

‘A mercenary,’ said Nina. ‘He was part of the attempted coup in Venezuela – and it looks like he’s trying to make up for not getting paid by raiding this place.’

Juanita was scared. ‘What – what about the soldiers we left outside?’

‘They’re dead,’ Mac replied bluntly. ‘And we will be too unless Eddie and your other men can hold them off.’

‘You don’t sound confident,’ said Kit.

The Hind came back into view outside. ‘We are slightly outgunned,’ said Mac. He looked towards the plaza. ‘We need to see what’s going on.’ He started down the steps, the others going with him. Nina left the case amongst the team’s gear before following.

Eddie and the two soldiers raced downhill through the narrow streets. They passed the tombs, seeing the reservoir ahead. ‘Where are we going?’ asked Lieutenant Echazu.

‘There’s only one way into this cave,’ Eddie answered. ‘We need to make sure nobody comes up that tunnel.’

‘We? But you do not have a gun!’

‘I’ve got a water pistol, sort of.’ They reached the edge of the hidden city, the ground sloping more steeply down to the shaft. ‘Okay, cover that hole.’

The soldiers split up to take positions overlooking the entrance. ‘What are you doing?’ shouted the corporal, Chambi, seeing Eddie running to the shaft itself.

‘Making sure they get the point!’ he said as he jumped down to the booby trap’s trigger slab. There was a rasp of stone, but it stayed in place.

More sounds echoed up the passage. He looked down, seeing torchlight glinting off the silver spikes. The intruders were already at the bottom of the shaft – and he had left them an easy way up. The hanging rope suddenly pulled tight as someone started to climb it.

He jumped down to the next step. Below was the ledge with the three jaguar heads. Another look over the edge – and he saw a man on the first ledge.

Eddie dropped flat on the cramped step, reaching down with one hand. The two jaguar heads that he had left untouched were just within his grasp, but the third, lowered to deactivate the trap, was a couple of inches beyond his fingertips. Swearing under his breath, he leaned further out. The man on the rope was already climbing to the second step—

A torch beam flashed across his face. Someone shouted in Spanish. The climber looked up, saw him – and dropped back down to the first step, reaching for the AK-47 across his back.

Eddie lunged, grabbing the stone jaguar and yanking it upwards – then rolled back as the Kalashnikov roared. Bullets smacked against the wall, sending ricochets screaming up the shaft. The noise was horrific in the confined space.

The thunder faded to echoes, then to nothing. The AK’s magazine was empty. He heard metallic clicks from below as the gunman kept pulling the trigger.

Not one of Stikes’s men, then – a professional would already be changing the mag. No time to wonder who he might be, though. Instead Eddie leapt and grabbed the rope, swinging round to plant his soles against the shaft’s side as he scrambled up. He couldn’t touch the trigger slab on the step above.

Kla-chack! The gunman had finally reloaded and pulled the AK’s charging handle, chambering the first round—

Eddie heaved himself over the ledge and swung sideways on the rope, thumping against the back wall as another burst of gunfire hammered up the shaft. He was barely an inch above the slab, his leather jacket brushing the stone. A sharp chunk of metal hit his cheek – a bullet had blown the tip off a spike. He flinched, almost falling, straining to hold on . . .

The firing stopped. The rope juddered in his hands as the man below grabbed it and started to climb after him.

Eddie jerked back into motion, pulling himself rapidly up the shaft. He clambered out and drew his knife. The rope was still bar-taut with the gunman’s weight; he sawed at it, threads fraying—

It snapped. A yell of fright came from below as the climber fell – followed by a terrible scream as he hit the spikes. The agonised shrieks continued as the man flailed, trying to drag himself off the spears tearing into his flesh. He succeeded – only to plummet down the shaft. The crack of shattering bone as his jaw caught the edge of a step was almost as sharp as the Kalashnikov’s shots.

The sound was followed by the real thing as the dead man’s companions fired up the shaft. Eddie ran – not because he feared being hit, but because he was only feet from the silver door at the bottom of the reservoir.

If the trap still worked, it would soon open.

The gunshots stopped, replaced by grunts of exertion. Another man was ascending, pulling himself up each step in turn. Shouts followed him as other men crowded into the tunnel to join the pursuit.

He reached the fourth ledge—

The slab tilted under his weight. Only by an inch . . .

But that was all that was needed to release the flap.

The heavy metal door, hinged at its top, flew open under the pressure of thousands of gallons of water. The escaping flood smashed against the great wall before finding an escape route – straight down the shaft.

The deluge swept away the men climbing the steps, dashing them against the spikes and driving the silver points through skulls and torsos. Those at the bottom fared no better, the surge of water pounding along the passage like a piston and flinging them to their deaths on the jagged rocks below.

Outside, Pachac stared at the plume of water gushing from the tunnel in horrified disbelief. He had been about to enter the passage himself – and now all the men who had gone before him were dead! Bodies surfaced and bobbed in the frothing pool, limbs snapped like broken dolls. The rest of his men were equally shocked. ‘Inkarrí!’ shouted one. ‘What – what do we do now?’

The force of the water was already falling. Pachac’s face set into an angry snarl. ‘As soon as the tunnel is clear, we go in – and make the bastards who killed our brothers pay!’

Eddie reached Echazu, the young officer having found a position in a small house overlooking the shaft. Chambi was not far away, crouched behind the wall of a terrace near their route into the city. ‘You got them!’ said the Peruvian.

‘Dunno if I got all of ’em, though,’ Eddie replied. The reservoir was now empty, the silver flap’s weight swinging it shut to reset the trap – but it would take hours, even days, for the streams running through the cavern to refill it. ‘If I didn’t, it won’t take long before they come through that hole. If you see anyone, shoot ’em!’ He ran along the terrace to give the corporal the same instructions.

From the circling Hind, Stikes watched Pachac and his remaining men climb to the entrance set into the towering wall. The gush of water from it had reduced to a modest stream. ‘The Incas didn’t leave their city totally undefended, I see.’

Baine, sitting beside him, looked down at the corpses in the pool without sympathy. ‘Stupid bastards. Must have run right in without checking.’

‘And Pachac’s probably about to do the same thing. He said they killed two soldiers, but that leaves another two – and I suspect the other end of that tunnel is easily defensible.’ His gaze rose from the wall to the cave mouth above it. With the waterfall all but stopped, the faint shapes of buildings were visible in the darkness. Elevated positions, with plenty of cover. . . ‘We might have to give him some help.’ He spoke into his headset. ‘Gurov, get a good firing angle into that cave.’

Nina looked down from the plaza at the great wall. She had seen Eddie running from the top of the shaft as a massive wave crashed into it, but then he disappeared behind the city’s lower buildings. ‘Oh God, where is he?’

‘He got clear,’ Mac assured her. ‘He’ll be okay.’

The other expedition members joined them at the stone balustrade. ‘Look, there!’ said Kit, pointing. A man peered cautiously from the top of the shaft before climbing out—

Gunfire crackled from below. Dust and stones kicked up around the intruder – then he slumped to the rocky ground, dead. Another man behind him hurriedly dropped out of sight.

Zender clenched a fist in triumph. ‘They got him!’

Nina didn’t feel reassured. Even if they could hold off their attackers, they were still trapped inside the city.

And there was another threat. The chop of the Hind’s rotors rose as the gunship descended, slowly pivoting to face the cave entrance.

Eddie reached over to Chambi’s AKM and turned its firing mode selector from automatic to single-shot. ‘You need to save ammo,’ he told the surprised soldier, having noticed that both Peruvians were only carrying one extra magazine. ‘It’ll be more accurate an’ all.’

Chambi’s grasp of English was apparently not great, but he got the gist. ‘You have been in fights before?’ he asked.

Eddie grinned crookedly. ‘You could say that. Whoa, look out – there’s another one.’ The barrel of an AK-47 popped up from the shaft, followed by its owner’s head, his companions lifting him so he could aim his weapon with both hands.

Chambi fired, the shot accompanied by a crack from Echazu’s gun. Eddie wasn’t sure whose bullet hit its target, but was happy with the result either way; the man’s head snapped back with a burst of blood from his forehead, and he disappeared again, this time permanently.

‘Good shot,’ he told the corporal, who seemed pleased by the praise. He saw that the first man to emerge had dropped his Kalashnikov when he was shot. An extra weapon would be a huge help – if he could reach it. ‘Keep the hole covered – I’m going to get that gun.’ He started back along the terrace to tell Echazu his plan.

A change in the Hind’s engine noise caught his attention. He had tuned out the gunship while concentrating on the shaft, but it was now hovering, engines straining at full power to support its armoured bulk.

Its cannon turned—

‘Down!’ Eddie shouted, diving flat behind the wall—

The Hind opened fire, the four barrels of its Gatling gun spitting out a stream of death. Echazu, fixated on the shaft, didn’t realise the danger until it was too late. The bullets ripped through the little building’s doorway, ricocheting shrapnel tearing him apart.

A momentary pause as Krikorian switched targets, then the onslaught began again, this time aimed at the terrace. The wall behind which Eddie and Chambi were sheltering was over a foot thick, but even its blocks splintered and cracked under the pounding storm.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Eddie yelled, shielding his face from stone fragments. He crawled rapidly towards the steep pathway. The soldier had flattened himself against the wall, too terrified to move – and blocking Eddie’s path. ‘Stay with me!’ the Englishman yelled, batting at Chambi’s legs with a fist. ‘If we can get round the corner, we’ll be safe – soon as he stops firing, run up the hill!’

The gunfire stopped. ‘Go!’ Eddie shouted, springing up like a sprinter off the blocks. He heard Chambi set off, a couple of paces behind.

Three yards, two—

The harsh rasp of the Gatling gun and the explosive crack of bullet impacts returned as Eddie reached the corner, rounds chewing into the wall behind him . . .

And into Chambi.

The young corporal was only one step away from safety when the stream of lead caught up with him. Half of his upper body literally exploded, showering the wall with blood and flesh. What was left of him tumbled on to the path behind Eddie. Horrifyingly, he was still alive.

Briefly.

The firing stopped again, the gunner trying to regain sight of his escaped prey.

Eddie shook off his shock. Chambi’s blood-splattered AKM was beside his corpse; he grabbed it and ran up the hill.

In the gunner’s cockpit, Krikorian kept the infrared sights fixed on the corner. A glowing splash of hot blood told him that he had hit one of the two running men . . . but the other had gone. He tipped his head to move the cross-hairs up the slope. A brief flash of body heat between two buildings, but it disappeared before he could lock on to it.

‘Lost him!’ Annoyed, he searched for other targets inside the cave.

A cluster of bright human shapes stood out.

Fear for her husband’s life had paralysed Nina as she and the others watched the Hind open fire – but the sight of the gunship’s cannon turning towards them snapped her back into motion with a surge of adrenalin. ‘Run!’

She and Mac went one way, the rest of the group the other - except Juanita, who started to follow the American and the Scot before Zender’s panicked shout of her name made her double back.

The hesitation cost the young woman her life. Tracer rounds seared over the city, catching Juanita as she tried to run. Her body was thrown back along the plaza, a bloodied rag doll.

The line of death pursued Nina and Mac—

‘Cease fire, cease fire!’ Stikes snarled into his headset. ‘I need Wilde and Jindal alive!’ The cannon’s roar stopped.

All of Pachac’s men had now gone into the tunnel. With the defenders dead they would be able to enter the cave with minimal resistance, but the bloodlust roused by the death of their comrades would almost certainly lead to their killing anyone they found. He had to take control of matters on the ground to prevent that from happening, but it would take him crucial minutes to rope down and catch up . . .

His gaze shifted back to the cave mouth. A moment’s thought, then: ‘Gurov! What’s this thing’s rotor diameter?’

Nina pressed against a building, out of the helicopter’s sights. Mac joined her a moment later. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, but – oh God, Juanita . . .’ The Peruvian woman lay motionless.

‘At least it would have been quick,’ Mac said grimly. He saw the other expedition members reach cover on the other side of the plaza. ‘Everyone else is okay – but why did they stop firing?’

That was not a question high on Nina’s mind. ‘What about Eddie? Did he get away?’ She leaned round the corner – and saw men emerging from the shaft. ‘Shit! More of them!’

Eddie crouched behind one of the tombs, looking back. The Hind had stopped shooting and was now hanging almost hesitantly above the trees. There was nowhere to land – was Stikes about to rope down?

Shouts brought his attention to a more immediate threat. More attackers had entered the cavern, and this time there was nobody to stop them. He pulled himself on to the little tomb’s roof. From here, he could see the shaft. A man scrambled out of it, then another.

Activity, much closer. Two men were heading up into the ruins. One was armed with an AK-47 – the other a rocket launcher. The first man pointed at the plaza.

Eddie aimed his AKM, but before he could shoot the pair moved out of sight.

He knew what they were doing: finding a good firing position.

Keeping low, Kit returned to the plaza’s eastern end. The helicopter was still hovering outside, but its cannon was no longer pointed at him. He raised his head to look down at the city. The shaft was disgorging armed men like an anthill; two, three, four, and no way to know how many were already inside the cave.

‘Kit, get back here!’ Macy cried. He looked round. She was with Osterhagen and Zender behind a squat building, Olmedo and Cruzado peering from inside its doorway.

‘I need to see how many there are,’ he replied. A man in a red beret pulled himself out of the shaft. Nobody followed him. But however many intruders had come through the tunnel, it was enough for the explorers to be outnumbered – and very definitely outgunned.

He was about to return to the others when he caught movement in his peripheral vision—

An RPG-7 warhead streaked towards him.

Kit dived as the rocket shot over the balustrade and hit the building sheltering the two Peruvian archaeologists. The explosion blew in one wall, stone blocks and the remains of the roof crashing down on top of them.

The rebel with the rocket launcher looked in satisfaction at the swelling cloud of dust from the partially collapsed building. The job wasn’t over, though. ‘I think there’s still someone up there. Help me reload,’ he said, kneeling so his comrade could reach into his backpack.

It contained another two RPG-7 rounds. One was taken out, its fuse protector being removed before the missile was loaded into the launch tube. The rebel looked through its sights. The cloud was clearing – he glimpsed someone behind the ruin and took aim—

Bullets tore into his body as Eddie opened fire from a rooftop several tiers above. The rebel fell, toppling over a wall to end up sprawled on a steep pathway, the launcher still clutched in his dead hands. The other man whirled, raising his AK – only to take a lethal round to the forehead.

Eddie hopped from one roof to another, then dropped down to the ground and ran uphill towards the plaza.

‘Macy! Leonard!’ Nina yelled across the plaza. She couldn’t see anything through the drifting smoke.

She heard coughing: Kit. The dust cleared enough for her to see him lying by the balustrade, a hand to his head. Chunks of broken stone were scattered around him. He was alive, but clearly hurt, hit by debris.

She was about to run to help him when Mac pulled her back. ‘Stay in cover!’ he warned. ‘The chopper’s coming in!’

A shocked glance at the cave mouth revealed that he meant it literally. The gunship was slowly advancing through the opening into the cavern itself.

It took all Stikes’s willpower not to show any outward signs of tension to his men as the chopper entered the cavern. The opening was easily large enough to accommodate the Hind – but helicopters were not designed to fly inside enclosed spaces. The enormous force of the rotor downwash could be deflected back at the aircraft in unexpected ways, throwing it into the ancient buildings – or even against the ceiling. He just had to hope Gurov was as good a pilot as he claimed . . .

Wind buffeted the gunship. Shielding his eyes, he leaned out of the hatch for a better view. They were now clear of the wall, and he saw Pachac’s men scurrying up through the city. But his attention went to the plaza, the only place the Hind could land - and to his anger he saw that the revolutionaries had already attacked it, the ghostly trail of a rocket-propelled grenade ending at a newly demolished building. If these communist cretins had killed the people he was after—

Bullets clanked off the helicopter’s flank. Stikes jerked back. Who was firing?

Somehow, he knew the answer: Chase!

Eddie reached the plaza, opening up with his AKM at the approaching Hind. He saw Stikes, his blond hair and tan beret instantly recognisable, duck into the cabin. ‘Everyone get out of here!’ he shouted. ‘Find somewhere to hide!’ Nina and Mac were behind a nearby building; across the paved area he spotted Macy, Osterhagen and Zender struggling upright. ‘Go on, run!’

He was about to follow his own advice when the helicopter swung in his direction—

‘Hold fire!’ Stikes shouted into the headset – but his voice was drowned out by a hissing roar as Krikorian unleashed an S-8 rocket.

In the time it took to blink, it shot down from the Hind’s wing pod and smashed into the plaza.

The explosion flung Eddie off his feet as broken stones were blasted into the air, thrown high and far enough even to hit the Hind. Part of a wall near him collapsed with a ground-shaking crash.

But the destruction didn’t end there. The plaza itself trembled, the foundations of its raised eastern end shifting. A great crack lanced across the slabs – towards Nina and Mac.

The cracks of falling debris were overpowered by louder, deeper crunches. Nina jumped back from the building as its blocks rasped and groaned against each other. ‘I don’t think we’re in a safe place . . . ’

Mac grimaced. ‘Nor do I!’

They leapt over the plaza’s edge – as the wall slammed down where they had been standing with an enormous crunch of masonry.

Flying rubble cascaded after them. A piece hit Nina’s shoulder like a blow from a baseball bat. Mac fared no better, taking a hit to the stomach that left him winded. A billowing grey cloud swirled over them.

The first of Pachac’s men reached the building in which they had landed . . .

And ran past, skirting as far as he could round the rolling miasma. The others behind him did the same, not wanting to risk getting close to a potentially unstable ruin. No one saw the two dust-covered figures inside.

Stifling a groan, Nina listened to the running footsteps move away, then painfully sat up. ‘Mac,’ she whispered. ‘Mac! Are you hurt?’

‘Nothing a spot of death won’t cure,’ the Scot wheezed, wiping his eyes. Nina helped him upright – then they both looked up at a rush of hot, fuel-stinking wind.

The Hind was moving in to land.

Eddie dizzily tried to move, and rapidly regretted it. His entire body felt like one huge bruise. What had happened? He’d shot at the helicopter . . .

The Hind!

It was hovering just feet above the plaza, pointing its Gatling gun at the explorers. Faced with certain and immediate death if they tried to escape, Macy, Osterhagen and Zender had surrendered. Men in black combat gear jumped from the cabin, some aiming at Kit, who raised his hands.

The others came for Eddie.

The AKM was only a few feet away. Ignoring the pain, he crawled towards it—

A booted foot stamped down on the weapon. Eddie twisted to see a gleaming handgun aimed at his head. A Jericho. Behind it was a sneering, aristocratic face.

‘Hello, Chase,’ said Stikes. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

34

The Hind had landed, Pachac and his men had reached the plaza – and the prisoners were being held at gunpoint.

‘Some familiar faces, I see,’ said Stikes, giving Macy and Osterhagen dismissive looks before turning rather more attention to Kit. ‘There’s one that’s conspicuously absent, though. Where’s your wife, Chase?’

Eddie said nothing, fixing the other Englishman with a defiant stare – which earned him a fierce blow from a rifle butt, knocking him to his knees. ‘He asked you a question, Chase!’ shouted Baine, following the strike up with a boot to the side. He was about to deliver another kick when a gesture from his commander stopped him short.

‘Well?’ said Stikes. ‘Where is she?’

‘Buggered if I know,’ Eddie groaned, standing back up. Nina’s location had been preying on his mind as well. She and Mac had been beside a building on the plaza’s southern side – which had now collapsed.

‘You may well be. I doubt Pachac’s men have a lot of female company hiding out in the mountains – they’re probably desperate enough to find even your hairy Yorkshire arse appealing.’ He turned back to Macy. ‘But I think it’s fairly clear who’d be at the top of their list. Should I give her to them, Chase?’ He raised the Jericho to her head. Macy’s lips tightened, trembling. ‘Or should I just shoot her now? So. Where’s your wife?’

‘She was behind that building,’ Eddie growled in defeat, knowing the former SAS officer would pull the trigger without hesitation. He gestured towards the rubble.

Stikes’s eyes flicked towards the wrecked structure. ‘Cagg, Voeker, check that. See if she’s buried in it.’ His two men moved off to search the ruin. Stikes lowered the gun. Macy let out a whimper of relief.

‘So you brought this arsehole with you,’ said Eddie of Baine, enduring another kick in an attempt to direct Stikes’s thoughts away from his hostages. He didn’t recognise any of the other mercenaries. ‘What about Maximov?’

Stikes scowled. ‘I fired him. Anyone stupid enough to be outwitted by you isn’t somebody I want on the payroll. And speaking of stupidity . . . ’ He faced the helicopter. Both cockpits were open, Krikorian examining the nose cannon while Gurov climbed on to the fuselage to inspect a large dent where a flying rock had hit one of the engine intakes. ‘Gurov! Is there any damage?’

‘I don’t know,’ the Russian replied. ‘I need to check the turbine blades.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘Twenty minutes.’

‘Do it.’ Stikes glared at Krikorian, who noticed his employer’s ire and shamefacedly moved behind the gunship. Stikes returned his gaze to Eddie. ‘Idiot. Firing a missile in a confined space – when I’d already given specific orders that I wanted you taken alive.’

‘Nice to know you care,’ said Eddie sarcastically.

‘Oh, I don’t. Not about you, at least.’ He looked across at Kit. ‘But Jindal and your wife are going to do something for me.’

‘What thing?’

Eddie hadn’t expected an answer, but his chances of getting even a hint fell to zero as Pachac and a couple of his men hurried down the stairway. ‘Stikes!’ shouted the terrorist leader excitedly. ‘It is here, it is here! The Punchaco!’

‘You found it?’ said Stikes.

Pachac ran to him. ‘Yes, yes! In the temple. It is – it is magnificent! And huge! Three metres high, at least.’

‘Over twice the size of the sun disc from Paititi, then,’ said Stikes thoughtfully. ‘At least four times the volume of gold.’

‘At least. And it is covered with gems, diamonds and emeralds and more!’

‘That should fund a revolution or two.’

Pachac’s enthusiasm dampened. ‘The Punchaco is the greatest symbol of my people. I cannot sell it – it would be a betrayal.’

‘What about the rest of the gold?’

‘There is no other gold,’ said the Peruvian. ‘Not that we have found.’

Stikes frowned. ‘That doesn’t seem likely. Since we’re standing in the heart of the legendary city of gold.’ He stood before Osterhagen. ‘You’re the expert, Dr Osterhagen – where’s the gold?’

The Punchaco is the only gold we have seen,’ said the German.

‘I find that difficult to believe.’

‘We haven’t had time to explore,’ Macy protested. ‘You got here right after we did.’

‘How did you get here so quick?’ Eddie demanded. ‘Only a few people knew exactly where we were going.’

A smug smile slithered on to Stikes’s face. ‘I have your father to thank for that.’

‘What?’

‘He called me after you threatened him in Bogotá. He was rather worried, but I assured him there wouldn’t be any problems.’ The smirk broadened. ‘He also told me that your wife was searching for El Dorado in Peru. And I knew someone with a lot of contacts here.’ He nodded at Pachac. ‘So I made a deal with Arcani, and he put the word out to his informants, his sympathisers, and most importantly his network of drug dealers to watch for a certain red-haired woman in charge of a team of foreigners. We knew that you’d arrived in Lima, we knew you spent last night in Chachapoyas, and we knew when you passed through the village down the road. But you didn’t reach the next village to the north, and there are only a handful of places you could possibly have turned off the road . . . so all Arcani’s people had to do was look for your tyre tracks. Simple.’

Eddie held in the surge of rage he felt towards his father, focusing it on more immediate targets. ‘So you’re in this for the gold? You might have a problem getting your cut if your new mate here doesn’t want to sell it.’

Stikes laughed. ‘I don’t want gold, Chase! Who am I, Mr T? No, the deal was that apart from enough to pay my men all they’re owed, plus a bonus, Pachac can keep everything that he finds here . . . except for the three statues your wife is so interested in.’

Eddie reacted with surprise – but noticed that, if anything, Kit seemed even more shocked. ‘What the hell do you want those for? They’re just bits of stone.’

‘We both know that’s not true.’ Stikes turned as Voeker and Cagg returned. ‘Well?’

‘She’s not there,’ said Cagg. ‘But there were some tracks in the dust. Looks like she went down the hill.’

Stikes whirled, staring towards the shaft. ‘Damn it! We can’t let her get away – Baine, make sure she doesn’t get out of the cave. Do not kill her; I need her alive.’ Baine raised his M4, which was fitted with a telescopic sight, and ran to the end of the plaza. The mercenary leader addressed his other men. ‘The rest of you, spread out and find her. We need to find the statues too. Where are they, Chase?’

‘How the fuck would I know?’ Eddie replied as the black-clad men dispersed. ‘I was down at the bottom trying to stop you arseholes from getting in.’

Stikes sighed and drew his gun again, pressing it against Macy’s head. ‘We’re not going to have to go through this rigmarole again, are we?’

Osterhagen spoke up. ‘Leave her alone. The statues are with our equipment, outside the temple.’

‘Show me,’ said Stikes. ‘Arcani, tell your men to guard the others . . . no, wait. I want to keep Chase in my sight. Bring them with us.’ Pachac issued orders, and the rebels pushed their prisoners forward at gunpoint.

‘We can’t let him take the statues,’ Kit protested.

‘Don’t worry about being separated from them, Jindal,’ said Stikes. ‘You’ll be coming with them.’

‘Why do you want him?’ asked Pachac.

‘I’m a wanted man after the fiasco in Venezuela,’ replied Stikes. ‘An Interpol officer will be a useful hostage if the police get too close.’

Eddie narrowed his eyes, puzzled. Stikes’s answer was a little too glib, too rehearsed. And it didn’t even hold water; taking a cop as a hostage was a bad idea, because it ensured that the other cops trying to rescue him would be particularly determined and ruthless. The mercenary had some other purpose in mind for Kit.

Pachac seemed equally doubtful, but was apparently willing to accept the explanation. ‘Then what about the gold?’ He waved a hand at the silent ruins as they climbed through the tiers towards the temple. ‘We are the first people to find this place since the Incas left. There must be more gold than just the Punchaco. I must have it. I need it for the revolution.’

‘Revolution?’ muttered Zender with contempt. ‘You are a drug dealer, nothing more. A common criminal.’

Pachac rounded on him, face twisted with anger. ‘I am the Inkarrí!’ he snarled. Zender flinched, but stood his ground, almost nose to nose with the terrorist leader. ‘I will give back my people the land and power that were stolen from them by the Spanish. By people like you! Bourgeois puppets of the ruling class! The revolution will sweep you away like garbage.’

‘There will not be a revolution,’ Zender countered. ‘This is the twenty-first century! Communism is dead – even the Chinese have rejected Maoism. People want jobs, and money, and homes where they can raise their children. They do not want drug-dealing psychopaths like you!’

Pachac was silent, the veins in his thick neck standing out as his fury rose . . . then with a roar he snatched something from his belt. A metallic snick – and he drove his knife into the official’s stomach. Zender screamed as the blade slashed deeper into his abdomen.

Eddie lunged at the Peruvian, but was seized by other rebels and dragged back. Macy turned away in horror as Pachac pulled out the knife, then clamped both hands around Zender’s throat, spittle flying from his lips as he hissed abuse in Quechua, the Indian language. He squeezed harder and harder, forcing Zender to his knees.

Zender convulsed, trying to force Pachac’s hands away, but the muscular revolutionary’s grip was too strong. The official’s mouth opened wide in a futile attempt to draw air through his crushed windpipe, tongue writhing like a panicked snake. A choked gurgle escaped his throat . . . then his eyes rolled grotesquely up into his head and his entire body sagged into the limpness of death.

Pachac let go. The corpse slumped to the ground. He wiped off his knife, then folded it shut. ‘So that was your speciality?’ said Stikes. ‘Callas told me about it. Capa . . .’

‘Capacocha,’ Pachac told him, returning the knife to his belt. ‘An ancient Inca ritual. One I will be proud to bring back.’

‘Couldn’t you have just stuck to playing pan pipes?’ Eddie asked, disgusted. The Peruvian’s expression made him think that he might also receive a demonstration, but then Pachac turned away and continued towards the temple entrance. His followers shoved the prisoners after him, leaving Zender’s body behind.

‘Where are the statues?’ Stikes demanded as they entered the little square with the fountains.

‘Over here,’ said Osterhagen, leading him to where the team had left their equipment.

Stikes opened the case to find the statues inside, the set now complete. ‘Excellent,’ he said, snapping the lid shut and picking up the box. He looked at Eddie. ‘So I’ve got the statues, I’ve got Jindal – that only leaves your wife.’

‘And the gold,’ said Pachac impatiently.

‘And the gold, yes. But—’ He broke off as his walkie-talkie bleeped. ‘Yes? Have you found her?’

‘Sir!’ said one of his men urgently. ‘We haven’t – but we found two of Pachac’s men dead. Their weapons are missing.’

Stikes immediately understood the implications. ‘She’s not trying to escape – she’s going to try to rescue her friends! Everyone get back up here – we’re on the level above the plaza.’ The case under one arm, he strode back to Eddie. ‘Been giving her survival lessons, have you?’

‘A few,’ said Eddie, wondering what the hell Nina was doing - and Mac, for that matter. ‘She knows how to take care of herself.’

‘But does she know how to take care of you?’ The Jericho was drawn again – but this time it was Eddie, not Macy, who was its target. ‘Dr Wilde!’ Stikes’s voice rose to a shout, echoing through the cavern. ‘Dr Wilde, I have your husband at gunpoint. You have ten seconds to make your position known and surrender, or I’ll kill him, then move on to the rest of your friends!’

Macy clutched Osterhagen’s arm in fear as Stikes stepped closer to Eddie, the gun inches from his face. The first of the mercenaries ran into the square, covering the other entrances and surrounding buildings with their M4s. ‘Ten!’ said Stikes. ‘Nine! Eight—’

‘Really, Alexander!’ boomed a Scottish voice. ‘You always were such a drama queen.’

Everyone whirled to see Mac on the terrace above, an AK taken from one of the rebels Eddie had shot ready in his hands. The weapons of mercenaries and terrorists alike snapped up to lock on to him. Stikes was genuinely thrown by his unexpected appearance, but quickly masked his surprise. ‘Well, well. McCrimmon. What in the name of God are you doing here?’

‘I’m on holiday,’ Mac replied. ‘Let them go.’

Stikes laughed sarcastically. ‘I don’t think so.’ The Jericho was still aimed unwaveringly at Eddie’s head. ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes. Seven! Six! Five!’

‘I’m warning you, Alexander!’ Mac shouted, lining up his gun’s sights on the mercenary leader.

‘And I’m warning you. Three! Two! One—’

‘Arse!’ Mac growled. With a noise of angry frustration, he tossed the Kalashnikov down to the square and raised his hands.

‘Hold your fire,’ Strikes snapped, the command aimed more at Pachac’s men than his own. ‘Come down here, McCrimmon.’

Mac started towards the nearest flight of steps. ‘So, this is what you’ve come down to, Alexander?’ he said. ‘Teaming up with Maoist killers? Robbing and plundering? It took eleven years, but your true colours are finally out in the open.’

‘Don’t be so bloody sanctimonious,’ Stikes sneered. ‘You’ve hardly kept your hands clean, doing all those little jobs for MI6. How many people did you set up to be killed? And as for your favourite poodle here,’ he waved his gun at Eddie, ‘it’s a wonder he hasn’t ended up in jail, with all the chaos he’s caused around the world.’

Mac managed a sardonic half-smile as he descended the steps. ‘I’d hoped that after the official investigation, the difference between legitimate and illegitimate targets might finally have penetrated your skull.’

Stikes narrowed his eyes in anger. ‘The only thing penetrating your skull will be a bullet if you don’t—’ He caught himself. ‘Oh, very good, Mac,’ he continued, voice becoming mocking. ‘You almost got me.’

‘Got you with what?’ Mac asked innocently as he reached the square. Pachac’s men surrounded him.

‘Got me into an argument about your attempt to destroy my reputation back in the Regiment. That would have kept me occupied for a few minutes, wouldn’t it?’ He regarded the surrounding buildings suspiciously. ‘Enough time for Dr Wilde to do whatever you’re both planning.’

‘Actually,’ called Nina, ‘I’ve already done it.’

Her voice came from above. The people in the square all looked up at the terrace, but saw nothing – until they raised their eyes higher to see Nina on the roof of the palace itself, watching them from the highest point in the city.

And aiming a rocket launcher at them.

‘Okay,’ she continued, having got their full attention, ‘here’s the deal. Either you let everyone go, or . . . boom.’

‘Er, love,’ said Eddie in alarm, ‘that didn’t work for Indiana Jones, and it won’t work for us either!’ The kill radius of an RPG-7 warhead was relatively small . . . but still more than large enough to shred the closely packed group in the square, good guys and bad alike.

But then he caught Mac’s eye. The older man gave him a knowing look – one that while not exactly reassuring, still suggested Nina had something in mind other than a no-win scenario.

Stikes was unimpressed by her threat. ‘You really expect me to believe that you’d kill your husband? And your friends?’ He briefly looked round as the rest of his men arrived. They immediately aimed their rifles at her.

‘Well, of course not,’ Nina replied. ‘I just wanted to let them know what I climbed all the way up here to do.’

‘Which is what?’

She cocked her head to one side – and smiled. ‘Pull the plug.’

And with that she ducked out of his sight, making a half-turn and dropping to one knee to brace herself as she took aim.

Eddie realised what she meant at the same moment as Macy, Kit and Osterhagen. ‘We’re gonna get wet again—’

Nina pulled the trigger.

The grenade’s small expeller charge blasted it out of the launch tube, flying clear of Nina before the main rocket booster ignited and sent the warhead streaking towards the rear of the cave at over six hundred miles an hour. It hit the wall the Incas had built to constrain their water supply – and exploded.

The echoes of the detonation faded . . . to be replaced by another sound. A low, crackling rumble.

Pent up behind the ancient dam were hundreds of thousands of gallons of water. Even with the river blocked, the level had hardly fallen, only having a tiny hole through which to escape.

That hole was now widening.

The cracking of stone blocks grew louder – then with a splintering boom, the wall gave way.

And a tidal wave burst into the cavern.

35

The fountains erupted into geysers as the pressure behind them increased a hundredfold. Water exploded around the palace, sweeping over the terrace and down the broad stairways towards the shocked people below.

Mac grabbed Macy, yelling ‘Run!’ She broke into a sprint, the Scot behind her.

Simultaneously, Eddie ran for the closest shelter – the Temple of the Sun. He swatted Osterhagen’s shoulder as he passed him, hoping the German would get the message and follow. Kit, further away, also made a break for the entrance.

‘Evacuate!’ Stikes bellowed, rushing for the steps leading down the temple’s side. His men raced after him.

Pachac and his followers were the least prepared, lacking the understanding of Nina’s plan or the mercenaries’ training. The great wave was almost on them before they broke through their dumbfoundedness and started to move.

Macy leapt on to a wall just as the water thundered past her. Mac, two paces behind and slowed by his artificial leg, was not so lucky. The frothing surge swept him away, also snatching up Pachac and his men, and Kit, bowling them all down the stairway towards the city’s lower levels.

Eddie ran into the temple just as the wave caught him and Osterhagen, throwing them against the inner wall. The two men were tossed like driftwood into the Punchaco’s chamber.

Outside, Stikes and his men changed direction just before the flood consumed them, running on to a narrow ledge along the temple’s flank rather than down the steps. Most of the flow took the steeper, wider route, human flotsam tumbling helplessly within it – but the rearmost mercenary slipped as a pursuing bore of water washed beneath his feet and fell with a scream into the maelstrom.

Choking, Mac managed to bring his head above the water – and saw danger dead ahead. The path down into the city made almost a ninety-degree turn at the bottom of the stairway. He was about to be flung against a wall.

Two buildings abutted each other to one side, a narrow gap between them—

He lashed out with his left leg. His foot wedged into the crack – and his ankle bent at an unnatural angle as he jerked to a stop.

His prosthetic ankle. The joint creaked and strained, the force of the water threatening to rip the straps securing the artificial limb to his knee. Water pummelling his face, he bent at the waist to grab the prosthesis itself with both hands, taking the weight off the bindings.

A hand clamped around his arm. Pachac, his extra weight about to snap the metal bone – then the Peruvian lost his grip and was gone.

Kit also glimpsed the approaching wall. He held his breath, powerless to prevent the collision—

The current swept the fallen mercenary in front of him, the other man taking the full force of their impact with a crack of ribs. Winded and spinning, Kit saw pillars along the front of a building. He grabbed at them, the water’s relentless push forcing his fingers from the first before he managed to get a grip on a second. He hung on as the flood surged past him, carrying the other men away downhill.

Stikes and his remaining men jumped from the ledge as the bore rushed around their feet, landing on the walls of the roofless buildings on the tier below the temple. A waterfall gushed down behind them. ‘Fuckin’ ’ell!’ gasped Baine. ‘That ginger bitch is a fuckin’ psycho!’

‘Keep moving,’ Stikes ordered, surveying the way ahead. By moving along the rooftops, they would be able to stay above the water and make their way down to the helicopter. He still had the case containing the statues; he checked that it was securely closed, then took the lead across the ruins.

On the plaza, Gurov and Krikorian had broken off from their checks at the sound of the explosion and rumble of water, but neither had been able to figure out what was happening – until the wave burst over the buildings above. Gurov gaped at the oncoming deluge, then scrambled down to the open rear cockpit. ‘I’ll start it up!’ he yelled at Krikorian. ‘You shut the hatch!’ The Russian had opened an inspection panel to access the gunship’s engines. Krikorian climbed up, slamming it closed and fumbling with the locking bolts as the wavefront swept across the plaza, churning against the Hind’s landing gear.

The tsunami swept Eddie and Osterhagen all the way round the chamber’s curved inner wall, slamming them against the Punchaco. Eddie gripped the enormous gold disc’s thick edge with one hand, the other clawing for a hold before finding purchase on the sun god’s open mouth. ‘Hang on to me!’ he yelled. Osterhagen clung to his waist. The water level was rising rapidly in the confined space, more surging in every second—

The wall beneath the window cracked – and broke apart.

Eddie almost lost his grip under the powerful suction of water rushing out through the new hole. It cascaded on to the buildings below, sweeping the broken stones with it – and exposing something beneath them.

From the palace roof, Nina watched the spreading waters, conflicted. The rocket launcher, now slung over her shoulder, had given Eddie and the others a chance of escape – but they were still in danger. She could see Macy fearfully climbing a building, cut off by the torrent, but the rest of the explorers were out of sight. And the ruins themselves were under threat; as she watched, a wall crumbled behind Macy like a sandcastle in a rising tide.

The palace itself trembled under her feet. She spun in alarm. The building was taking the full force of the escaping water – and a chunk of its rear wall collapsed in a waterlogged implosion. Pillars toppled like dominoes, a chain reaction of disintegrating masonry advancing on her—

She screamed and made a running jump off the roof just as it broke apart, landing painfully on a lower wall. Spray and froth crashed over her. She gasped for breath, then looked back at the fallen section . . .

Her pain and fear disappeared, replaced by utter amazement.

Pachac had been right. There was more gold hidden in the ancient city. Quite literally – behind the carefully interlocked stones from which the palace was built, she saw the unmistakable sheen of precious metal, cast into rectangular slabs. The Incas had kept more than the Punchaco hidden from the Spanish, an unimaginable fortune concealed inside the walls. Despite her precarious situation, she actually laughed in genuine delight.

In the temple, Eddie had made a similar discovery. ‘Doc!’ he shouted. ‘Look at the wall!’

Osterhagen found secure footing. He turned – and gasped. Jutting from the edges of the jagged hole were large golden bricks, gleaming in the daylight coming through the cave mouth. ‘The city of gold!’ he cried. ‘It’s true, the legend is true!’

Suddenly, the light became brighter.

The advancing wave hit the great defensive wall. The reservoir was filled in a moment, a huge backwash exploding into the air as the drainage holes were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of water. More plunged down the shaft, sweeping away the bodies of Pachac’s men, but even this was not enough to relieve the pressure.

A huge section of the wall bulged outwards – and toppled with a cacophonous boom. The water rushed down its new escape route, sweeping over the rubble into the drained pool outside. The river channel that had carried away the overflow filled again, a tidal surge charging through the jungle towards the valley.

Almost as if satisfied with its destructive efforts, the flow of water began to ease. Most of the underground reserve had now drained away. The roar fell to a rumbling growl.

Stikes, climbing down to another rooftop, heard the change and looked up the slope. The torrent’s fury was dying. There was still a lot of water gushing through the streets, but no longer with deadly force.

That didn’t alter his objective. Plenty of damage had already been inflicted on the Inca settlement, the thumps of falling stonework echoing all around him. The sooner he got to the helicopter with his prize, the better.

Prizes, plural. Another sound caught his attention: a coughing groan. Not far away, Kit clung to a pillar as the flood washed around him. Stikes drew his gun and pointed it at the Indian. ‘Jindal!’ Kit looked up at him through half-closed eyes, confused - then shocked. ‘Don’t move. We’ve still got some business together.’

The raging water trying to tear Mac loose subsided. He shifted position, keeping hold of his prosthetic leg with one hand as he used the other to grip a jutting block and pull himself higher. Taking his weight on his right leg, he freed his trapped foot, then splashed down to solid ground. The water reached his shins, but was quickly falling.

He sloshed back up towards the square to search for his friends, discovering to his annoyance that he was limping: the strain had bent his artificial foot out of alignment. ‘I’ll have a job kicking anyone’s arse with that,’ he muttered.

Gurov completed his hurried pre-flight checks and twisted in his cockpit seat to look back at Krikorian. ‘Come on, close the fucking hatch!’

The Armenian was struggling with a catch. ‘It’s stuck, I can’t lock it!’ He bashed at the panel with a fist, trying to force it shut.

Even though the flood seemed to be slowing, Gurov still wanted to get the hell out of the cave. ‘I’m starting her. Just get it closed before we take off!’

He flicked switches. With a whine of turbines, the engines came to life, the heavy rotor blades slowly beginning to turn.

Further down the hill, the bedraggled Pachac pulled himself out of the water up a short flight of steps. Another of his men was already there, panting and clutching his bleeding arm, and nearby he heard moans and calls for help. ‘Comrades! Can you hear me?’ he shouted. ‘Who’s still with me?’

One by one, his remaining followers responded. Eight men altogether – all that was left of his original force of over twenty. ‘What do we do, Inkarrí?’ one asked.

Pachac looked towards the cave mouth. Now that part of the wall had collapsed, it would be easy for them to reach the jungle outside. ‘We need to get out of here and contact the rest of the True Red Way,’ he decided. ‘The Punchaco is here – we can’t let the government get it. We need more men so we can take it ourselves.’

‘But it’s huge, it weighs tons!’ protested another rebel. ‘How are we going to get it down the road?’

‘We’ll steal a truck!’ He pointed at two men. ‘Mauro, Juan, when we get outside you guard the cave. If any of the archaeologists survived and try to escape, kill them.’

Heads turned towards the rising sound of the Hind. ‘What about the mercenaries?’ said the first man.

‘Stikes got what he came for, those statues,’ replied Pachac. ‘If he tries to get anything else . . . we kill him too!’ He regarded the broken wall. ‘The water’s falling; we’ll be able to get out now. Come on.’

Eddie waded to the now open end of the temple. Osterhagen followed. ‘This is incredible,’ said the German. ‘If there is gold behind the whole wall, it would be worth hundreds of millions of dollars!’

‘If I were you, I’d start negotiating for a finder’s fee . . .’ Eddie tailed off, the gold forgotten as he took in the view beyond the opening. On the plaza, the Hind’s rotors were building up to takeoff speed – and closer, on the maze of rooftops between the temple and the helicopter, he saw Stikes and four of his men carefully navigating the walls to reach the aircraft.

With a prisoner. Kit. Baine held him at rifle point.

‘Doc, wait here,’ Eddie ordered. Before Osterhagen could reply, the Englishman had climbed through the hole and jumped down on to the skeletal buildings below. He ran along the thick walls after the mercenaries.

The water flowing beneath Nina’s position finally looked safe enough to traverse. She dropped down into it and made her way to the terrace overlooking the square.

To her relief, she saw a welcome face below. ‘Mac!’ she cried, carefully negotiating the waterfall running down the steps and hurrying to him. ‘You’re okay!’

‘My specialist will probably have some harsh words,’ Mac replied, raising his buckled prosthetic leg out of the water, ‘but apart from that, yes, I’m all right. What about the others? Have you seen them?’

Nina looked to one side. ‘I saw Macy over there somewhere - she’d climbed up on to a building, she looked okay. I haven’t seen anyone else, though. Do you know where Eddie went?’

‘In the temple, I think.’ Mac’s gaze returned to the rocket launcher. ‘Let me have that.’

Nina handed it to him. ‘What are you gonna do with it?’

‘Stikes’s helicopter is getting ready to take off,’ he said. ‘Hopefully, that spare warhead is still where we left it; if it is, I’ll see that he encounters a little turbulence.’

‘I’ll tell Eddie to find you,’ said Nina as she headed for the temple. Mac smiled, then limped as quickly as he could down the hill.

A narrow, flooded alley separated two tiers of buildings. Eddie vaulted it, wobbling as he regained his balance on the lower wall, then hurried after the mercenaries.

All five were still armed, and if any looked back he would be in trouble, but their attention seemed fixed on three things: the waiting helicopter, their prisoner, and navigating the walls without slipping. The only thing on Eddie’s mind, however, was violence. He rapidly gained on them, cutting corners in pursuit.

Stikes, leading, dropped out of sight on to a lower tier, followed by Voeker. Kit, next in line, hesitated at the jump. ‘Get fuckin’ down there,’ Baine snarled, jabbing his M4 at him. The other two men stopped behind him in a line, unable to get past. Kit glared back at Baine – then his expression changed to one of surprise. Baine turned—

The last man in the line was carrying his rifle over his shoulder. Eddie grabbed it, swung it round, and fired a burst at point-blank range into his back.

The bullets tore through the man’s body, exploding messily out of his chest – and hitting Cagg. Even mangled by their passage, the rounds still had enough force behind them to rip into his torso. The mercenary staggered, eyes wide in shock, then keeled over and fell into the waterlogged room below.

Eddie struggled to pull the rifle free of the dead man as he collapsed. Baine brought up his own gun—

Kit body-slammed him, knocking the rifle from his hands. It clattered off the wall and landed near Cagg’s body. Baine reeled. Kit grappled with him – and threw him off the wall to the next tier down.

Eddie finally wrestled the M4 free, the mercenary’s corpse toppling on to a wooden beam and hanging spread-eagled over it. ‘Kit! You okay?’

‘Yes. Thank you!’ The Interpol officer smiled in relief.

Eddie hurried up to him. Stikes and Voeker came into view below. The ex-officer was still carrying the case. Eddie raised the M4, but before he could fire, Stikes and his companion leapt down to the plaza, shielded by thick stone walls.

Eddie had found a new target, though. The Hind was not yet at takeoff revolutions, needing to be at maximum power to haul itself airborne – and he saw a man in a jumpsuit slam closed a panel on the engine cowling. The forward cockpit’s canopy was open: the gunner.

The man who had brought carnage to Caracas. Without hesitation, Eddie aimed and fired. The jumpsuit’s jungle camouflage blossomed with dark red. Krikorian crumpled, thumping off the Hind’s stub wing and dropping to the ground.

No way to do the same to the pilot; the rear cockpit was shut, impervious to the M4’s bullets. But he could still deal with the pilot’s boss. ‘Get back up to the temple,’ he told Kit. ‘Osterhagen’s in there – see if you can find Nina or anyone else.’

‘Where are you going?’ Kit asked.

‘After Stikes.’

‘Are you going to get the statues back?’

‘No, I’m just gonna kill him!’

As Kit retreated, Eddie moved to the edge of the wall and pointed his gun at the tier below. No sign of Baine. There was a steep alley between the lower buildings, water still draining downhill with some force. He jumped on to a wall and advanced along it, still searching for the ex-SAS trooper – but then any thoughts of Baine vanished as he spotted Stikes running for the helicopter. He raised the rifle, pinning the mercenary’s back in his sights—

Hands clamped around his ankles.

Baine had been hiding, now leaping up to grab him and pulling with all his strength. Arms flailing, Eddie fell.

He landed on top of the mercenary, knocking him backwards. Both men landed in the alley – and were swept away downhill by the rushing water.

Kit made his way back along the rooftops, then realised he had missed the opportunity to arm himself in case Pachac and his men were still around. He was about to turn back to retrieve one of the fallen rifles when a holster on the dead mercenary slumped over the roof beam caught his eye. He pulled out the pistol, a Steyr M9-A1 automatic, and quickly checked that it was loaded with its full fifteen rounds before continuing.

Nina entered the temple to find Osterhagen looking out through the broken wall. ‘Leonard! Are you okay?’

The German nodded. ‘What about you?’

‘I’m fine. Where’s Eddie?’

‘He shot some of the mercenaries – but he just fell off a wall!’

Nina ran to the opening, ignoring the gold as she searched for her husband. ‘Where?’ Osterhagen pointed at a lower row of buildings. She saw Kit picking his way along a wall, arms held out for balance like a tightrope walker, but there was no sign of Eddie. ‘Dammit!’ She ran from the temple, hurrying down the steps.

Macy gingerly lowered herself from her perch. ‘Oh, gross . . . ’ she whispered as cold, muddy water sluiced into her boots. It was now only about ankle deep, the flow like that of a brisk stream, but she was still worried about keeping her footing.

One hand on a wall for support, she started to make her way downhill.

‘Kit! Over here!’

The Indian looked round to see Mac emerging from a building. The Scot was carrying the RPG-7 – which was now loaded with the last of the olive-green warheads. ‘Mac! I’m glad to see you,’ Kit said, relieved.

‘You too.’ Mac noticed the gun. ‘You’re armed, good. Come on, get down here. Nina and Macy are okay – have you seen any of the others?’

Kit jumped from the wall and splashed to him. ‘Eddie rescued me from Stikes and his men.’

An approving nod. ‘Good lad. Where is he now?’

‘He went after Stikes.’

Approval turned to a frown. ‘Sod it! If he’s too close . . .’

‘Too close for what?’

Mac held up the rocket launcher. ‘I won’t be able to use this.’

‘You’re going to blow up the helicopter? But Stikes has the statues.’

‘That’s the least of my worries.’ He indicated the tower the expedition had passed on their way to the plaza. ‘I should be able to get a good shot from there before he takes off. Come on!’ He started a limping jog towards it.

Kit followed, his face betraying his secret concern.

Stikes and Voeker reached the Hind and jumped through the open rear hatch. The mercenary leader grabbed a headset. ‘Gurov! Take off, now!’

‘I can’t!’ came the reply. ‘There’s a problem with the port engine, oil pressure. I need to bring it up to speed slowly.’

‘How long?’

‘A minute. What about the others?’

‘There’s no one left to wait for,’ said Stikes coldly. He put the case down in the empty seat beside him and secured it with the harness straps. ‘Besides, I’ve got what I came for.’

The steep alley ended where it met a wider, shallower pathway, the rush of water bowling Eddie into one of the small tombs. Tightly wrapped mummies, now sodden and waterlogged, crunched underneath him. Bruised and winded by his uncontrollable trip down the hard-sided waterslide, he stood—

Baine slithered into the tomb in a burst of spray and slammed a boot into Eddie’s stomach. ‘All right, Yorkie?’ he cried as Eddie doubled over. He jumped to his feet, delivering another kick to his former comrade’s midsection. ‘Yeah, ’ave some of that! You broke one of my fucking teeth in Caracas – you know how shit the dentists are down here?’ More kicks. Eddie collapsed in a corner, scattering bones and ritual items. Baine moved closer. ‘Gonna break your fucking neck—’

Eddie whipped up a length of cloth like a slingshot – with a skeletal arm folded inside it. It smashed against the side of Baine’s head. Eddie followed up with a punch. From his awkward position it didn’t have much power behind it, but was hard enough to make the bigger man retreat. Eddie held in a groan as he pushed himself upright. ‘You couldn’t break a fucking pencil, you southern ponce.’

Baine balled his fists. ‘Always ’ad some fucking smart-arse comment, didn’t you? Now me, I stick to—’

He broke off abruptly, driving a fearsome punch at Eddie’s head. The Yorkshireman barely managed to dodge, Baine’s knuckles clipping his ear. His military training had taught him that the mere act of speaking demanded a surprisingly large part of the brain’s processing power, detracting from its ability to react to sudden events – but Baine had the same training and had played on Eddie’s expectations to launch a surprise attack.

Another blow, forcing Eddie back a step to avoid it. Baine advanced, fists raised like a boxer. Eddie, realising he was being cornered, brought up his own hands to defend – and took a brutal blow just inches from his groin from the other man’s foot. Not just a boxer – a kickboxer. Baine had expanded his skill set over the past decade.

The mercenary grinned malevolently. ‘Yeah, weren’t expecting that, were you? Feet an’ fists – I can take you down with either.’ A few feints from both pairs of extremities. Eddie countered, but knew that in the confined space, when the real attack came he wouldn’t be able to avoid it. ‘You’re getting slow, Yorkie! Married life’ll do that, turn you into a useless fat fucker.’ A glance at Eddie’s hairline. ‘Makes you go bald too!’ He laughed—

Eddie struck, this time landing a solid blow to Baine’s upper jaw. The punch split the skin on his knuckles, but the Essex man came off worse, the inside of his lip tearing against his front teeth and the cartilage of his septum snapping. He staggered back, spitting blood.

This time, it was Eddie’s turn to deliver a kick – but even through his pain Baine still had the reflexes to twist away from a ball-crunching impact. Snarling, he dived at the Yorkshireman. Eddie punched him again, but couldn’t avoid the collision – or stop himself from being driven against the wall.

‘Fucker!’ yelled Baine as they grappled. His greater size and weight gave him the advantage, pushing his opponent further down into the tomb’s corner. He jerked up a knee and hit Eddie squarely in the stomach.

Gasping, Eddie struggled to recover, but Baine shoved his head back against the stone wall with a crack. Dizzied, he tried to rise—

Baine’s forearm pressed across his throat like a steel beam, choking him.

Mac ran up the steps into the tower, Kit behind him. As he had hoped, it gave him an excellent view over the plaza.

The Hind was still on the ground, but the amount of spray being kicked up by its downwash told him that it was almost at takeoff power. He brought up the RPG-7 and looked down the sights. The Russian weapon’s aiming system was crude, but at a fairly short distance against a large stationary target he didn’t need to do anything beyond point it in the right direction and fire.

‘Mac, what if Eddie’s down there?’ Kit protested. ‘You might kill him.’

‘He’s not on the plaza, so he’s safe,’ Mac replied. The Hind was fixed in the sights. ‘Clear behind!’

‘No, Mac – if they know you’ve got a rocket, we can force them to surrender!’

‘Kit, the backblast on this thing will kill you,’ Mac snapped impatiently. The helicopter shifted on its landing gear as the rotors reached full speed. It would lift off in a matter of seconds. ‘This is our only chance – move!’

He saw in the corner of his eye that Kit had moved out of the rocket’s deadly exhaust cone, then turned his attention back to the sights. He flicked off the safety, steeling himself for the jolt of firing as he tightened his finger on the trigger—

Two bullets hit him in the back.

Mac collapsed, searing pain swallowing his senses. Blood gushed from the wounds. The unfired RPG-7 clunked down beside him.

Kit stood frozen, the smoking Steyr clutched in his hand. His eyes were wide in shock at what he had just done. His mouth opened, an apology, a confession, on his lips . . . then it snapped shut. Dismay disappeared, replaced by determination. He ran down the stairs, leaving the dying man behind.

36

Eddie kicked and thrashed at Baine, but couldn’t shift the thick arm crushing his throat. Darkness pulsed in from the edges of his vision with each beat of his heart. His hands scrabbled over the detritus of the tomb for anything he could use as a weapon, but found nothing except cloth and desiccated flesh.

The darkness swelled again, narrowing his view to a tunnel: Baine leering down at him, the entrance behind.

Another pulse – and something changed—

He tried to speak, only a raw croak escaping his mouth. Baine leaned closer, cruel smile widening. ‘Wassat, Yorkie?’

‘Marriage . . .’ Eddie managed to rasp.

Puzzled, Baine eased the pressure on Eddie’s neck very slightly. ‘Marriage? What about it? Makes you fat an’ bald – what else?’

Eddie choked out more words. ‘Someone – always – got your back.’ To Baine’s surprise, his grimace turned into a crooked smile. ‘Like – now!’

A mummified skull smashed down on the mercenary’s head.

Nina stood behind him, wincing at the pain in her hand. ‘Dammit, that really hurt! Oh, crap,’ she added as Baine recovered from the shock and glared over his shoulder at her.

‘Yeah, that did fucking hurt, you bitch!’ he snarled, spitting out more blood. He turned to face Nina. Behind him, Eddie slumped to the water-covered floor, more burial artefacts clattering around him.

Nina brandished the skull, before realising that without the element of surprise it was all but useless as a weapon. She backed towards the exit. ‘Great, I had to pick frickin’ Yorick and not a gun . . .’

Baine advanced, face full of fury—

‘Oi!’ said a gravelly voice from behind him. ‘Twat!’

Baine spun – and Eddie plunged an ornate golden dagger into his stomach. The mercenary roared as the Yorkshireman twisted the tumi, forcing the blade deeper into his body.

But despite the agony, Baine wasn’t incapacitated. He caught the still winded Eddie with a savage punch, knocking him down. Another kick hammered into Eddie’s stomach, then Baine pivoted to smash his steel-capped combat boot into his face—

The skull cracked down on his head again, shattering into fragments. Baine slumped to his knees, falling forward. Eddie rolled out of the way – and the mercenary splashed down face first, driving the knife all the way into his abdomen. He let out a long, bubbling moan, then was silent. A red circle swelled in the water around him.

Eddie sat up. ‘He’s got a tumi in his tummy,’ he groaned.

Nina was too worried to complain about the terrible joke. ‘Oh my God, Eddie? Are you all right?’

‘Help me up, and we’ll see if any bits fall off.’

Nina stepped over Baine’s body. ‘Sorry about your friend,’ she said to the remaining mummies as she pulled Eddie to his feet.

With the water level dropping all the time, Macy had been able to increase her pace through the city. She had spotted first Mac, then Nina, hurrying down the hill and decided to follow them, but so far hadn’t seen any further sign of anyone. And the two gunshots she had just heard prompted her to duck into hiding. Were Pachac and his people still around?

It was obvious that Stikes and his men were leaving, though. The helicopter rose above the plaza, making a careful half-turn before heading for the cave mouth. One less set of assholes to worry about, then, but she still felt far from safe.

Macy looked cautiously around, seeing nobody, then moved out and continued down the slope. The Hind was approaching the cavern’s entrance. Once it left, she might actually be able to hear if there was anyone nearby—

She rounded a corner – and found a gun pointing at her.

Shock and fear quickly turned to relief as she realised it was Kit, who seemed equally startled. ‘Jeez!’ she gasped, unable to hold back a nervous giggle. ‘You scared me!’

For a moment, the gun remained still . . . then Kit relaxed and lowered it, ‘Sorry. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Have you seen Nina or Eddie? Or Mr McCrimmon?’

‘No . . . no,’ he said, the repetition more firm. ‘Eddie went after Stikes – I’m looking for Mac.’

A flight of steps nearby led up to the tower. ‘I saw him not long ago – I think he was heading that way.’ She started towards them.

Kit shook his head firmly, moving to block her. ‘No, I saw some of Pachac’s men go up there.’ He pointed to a nearby building. ‘Wait in there and keep out of sight until it’s safe. I’ll . . . look for Mac.’

Macy reluctantly did as she was told as Kit ascended the steps. ‘Take care,’ she called to him.

He didn’t reply, or even look back.

‘How are you feeling?’ Nina asked Eddie as they left the tomb.

‘Lighter.’

‘Huh?’

‘’Cause I just had the shit kicked out of me.’

‘Very funny.’

They looked up to see the Hind clearing the cave mouth. ‘Buggeration and fuckery!’ Eddie growled. ‘Stikes got away.’

‘Well, good!’ said Nina. ‘If he’s gone, we don’t have to worry about him any more.’

‘He’s got your statues.’

‘What? Oh. Oh! God damn it!’ She scowled after the departing aircraft as it powered away. ‘Son of a bitch!’

‘Does it matter?’ Eddie asked as he started to limp back up the slope. ‘He can’t do anything with ’em, and they helped us find El Dorado – what else can they do?’

‘That was kinda what I wanted to find out!’

‘Well, you can worry about it when we get back to New York. For now, we still need to get out of here. Let’s find the others.’

‘Mac had the rocket launcher – he said he was going to try to shoot down the helicopter.’ Eddie stopped. ‘What?’ Nina asked, reading concern on his face.

‘He didn’t even try – we would have heard it.’ He looked around for the most likely spot from which to launch an attack. ‘Up there,’ he said, indicating the tower. He set off again. ‘Mac! Mac, can you hear me?’

Kit had halted once he was out of Macy’s sight, mind a whirlwind of confusion and guilt – until Eddie’s shout snapped him back to full awareness. It wouldn’t be long before the Scot was found—

An idea, the Interpol officer acting upon it the instant it formed. He hurried back into the tower. Mac lay unmoving on the floor, blood pooling around him. Kit sat against the wall behind him, fired two shots into the air – then moved the gun to point at his upper arm.

He braced himself – and pulled the trigger.

Eddie broke into a run at the sound of gunfire. He reached the steps, seeing Macy peering fearfully from a nearby building. ‘Stay out of sight!’ he warned her.

‘Eddie, wait!’ Nina cried behind him, but he pounded up the steps and raced for the tower, the pain of his beating forgotten. Past a junction, up another flight of steps—

He stopped at the top as if he had slammed into an invisible wall. Kit was slumped on the floor, clutching a bloody wound to his left arm – but all Eddie could think about was Mac. His friend lay face down by the wall overlooking the city, the RPG-7 beside him. There were two bullet wounds in his back, lines of blood oozing from them.

‘Mac?’ He took a clumsy step closer, feet as heavy as lead. The figure didn’t stir. Another step. ‘Mac!’

Nina ran up behind him. ‘Eddie – oh, God.’

Kit moaned. ‘Pachac,’ he said weakly. ‘It was Pachac . . . caught us by surprise, then ran . . .’

Eddie reached Mac and stood over him, statue-like. Even through his horror, part of his mind was still functioning with trained, robotic clarity, assessing the injuries. The wounds were close together on the left side of his back. They would have hit the lung, probably also the heart. From the amount of pooled blood, there would also be a much larger exit wound in his chest. Even with immediate surgical intervention the chances of survival were extremely low.

But there would be no surgery. They were miles from any help.

He knelt, the blood soaking into the material of his jeans. Movement – slight, but definite. Mac was still breathing. He reached down, finding that his fingers were shaking. A hesitant touch on the older man’s shoulder. ‘Mac? Can you hear me?’

Silence for several seconds . . . then a faint sigh of drawing breath. Little bubbles formed in one of the bullet wounds. Mac slowly, painfully, turned his head, one half-closed eye blearily focusing on the man beside him. ‘Eddie?’ His voice was barely a whisper.

‘Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. It’s me.’

The Scot moved his hand, trying to reach up but lacking the strength. Eddie gripped it. The skin already felt cold. ‘I’m sorry . . .’

‘For what?’

‘Stikes . . . Had him right in my sights before he took off, but . . . not fast enough. I let him get away . . .’

‘No, you didn’t, it wasn’t your fault,’ said Eddie, shaking his head. ‘Look, I’m – I’m gonna try to stop the bleeding.’ He knew it was futile, but he had to do something. ‘Hold still, and I’ll—’

‘No, Eddie.’ Mac groaned, more bubbles rising from the blood-filled holes. ‘Not . . . worth it.’

‘It is worth it!’ His voice cracked as he spoke.

‘No, not going to . . .’ Mac’s whole body trembled. His hand now felt like stone. He whispered something.

Eddie leaned closer, desperate. ‘Mac, I can’t hear you. Stay with me, stay with me!’

With a last agonising effort, Mac turned his head further so he could look up at his friend with both eyes. He spoke again, forcing out the words. ‘Fight to the end . . . Eddie.’

Then nothing. The sagging of his body was so slight that it was barely noticeable, but it was all Eddie needed to know without a doubt that he was dead.

‘Mac,’ he said anyway, pleading for him to return. ‘Mac, come on. Mac!’

Tears beading in her eyes, Nina crossed to him. ‘Eddie, I . . . ’ she began, before stopping, unsure what to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ she eventually whispered, touching his shoulder.

He didn’t look up at her, instead staring silently at the man who had shaped so much of his life, the man he had respected and admired above all others. He reluctantly let go of Mac’s hand, then reached over and gently closed his eyes. ‘Fight to the end,’ he echoed, voice hoarse.

Running footsteps. Nina looked back in alarm, but it was only Macy and Osterhagen hurrying up the steps. ‘I heard shots . . .’ said Osterhagen, before tailing off at the sight of the tableau.

Macy raised her hands to her mouth, horrified. ‘Oh no. Oh, God. Is – is he okay? Is he . . .’

Eddie abruptly stood and turned. Nina almost flinched at a frighteningly unrecognisable new aspect to his familiar features. His eyes were wide, clear, intensely focused – but his face was utterly, chillingly blank, devoid of expression. Stone cold. ‘He’s dead,’ he said flatly, pushing past Nina to go to Kit. He picked up the gun from the floor beside him and ejected the magazine. Nine rounds left, plus one in the chamber. He snapped the mag back into place and headed for the stairs, almost barging Macy and Osterhagen aside.

‘Eddie, wait!’ Nina shouted. ‘There are too many of them, they’ll kill you!’

But he was gone. ‘Shit!’ she cried, rushing down the steps after him. ‘Leonard, Macy, stay with Kit!’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Macy insisted, following. Osterhagen went to the wounded Indian to examine his injury.

Eddie ran through the abandoned city, eyes sweeping like radars, hunting for threats. For targets. Nobody there; they had all evacuated the cavern. He reached the reservoir, skirting the top of the entrance shaft to the great gap where the defences had collapsed. He pressed himself against the edge and checked outside.

The jungle’s colours were muted, clouds having descended. A great pile of broken rubble was strewn across the pool. On the far bank, about fifty yards away, were two of Pachac’s men. Both held AK-47s.

The knowledge that he was outgunned didn’t cause even a fraction of a second’s hesitation. Eddie whipped round the wall, locking the Steyr on to the centre of mass of the man on the left with mechanical precision. He squeezed the trigger three times. The first shot narrowly missed, kicking up a clod of earth from the ground, but he had already compensated. The second and third bullets hit the rebel in the arm and stomach. He dropped.

The other man raised his AK. Too late. This time, all three rounds hit their target. The revolutionary fell, blood spurting from his chest.

Eddie ran down the pile of stones and splashed through the pool to the bank. The first man was still alive, writhing in agony. Without the slightest emotion, Eddie shot him in the head, then shoved the Steyr into his jacket and scooped up an AK-47 before continuing into the jungle.

Nina reached the ruined wall just in time to see him disappear into the trees. She called his name, but knew she wouldn’t get a response. ‘What’s he doing?’ Macy asked as she caught up.

‘He’s going to kill Pachac,’ Nina answered grimly as she began to pick her way down the unstable slope. ‘And everyone with him.’

Pachac, in the Hummer’s passenger seat, looked back sharply at the distant echo of gunfire. The shots weren’t the distinctive thump of an AK-47 – and the lack of returning Kalashnikov fire suggested that the two men he had left to guard the cave were dead.

He tried his phone. No signal. Even though they had reached the road, there was still no reception; the nearest cell mast was several kilometres away in the village down the winding mountain valley. That meant the survivors of the archaeological team couldn’t call for help, but he couldn’t summon support for his much-diminished force either.

‘Stop the car!’ he ordered the driver. The H3 came to a halt. Pachac got out as the other two 4×4s pulled up behind him. ‘Somebody’s coming after us,’ he shouted to his men. ‘Make sure they don’t catch up.’

They got the message, readying their guns. Pachac climbed back into the Hummer and the convoy set off again.

Eddie reached the spot where the expedition had parked. Their three off-roaders were still there – as were the corpses of the two soldiers who had been left to guard them. A rumble of engines from the direction of the road told him that the revolutionaries had left – probably going to get backup to raid the incredible wealth of El Dorado before the Peruvian authorities could secure it.

But their purpose didn’t interest him. All he cared about was catching them.

He ran to the military Jeep, the lightest and fastest of the 4×4s. No key. Who had been driving? One of the privates, he remembered; he quickly searched their bodies and found it. He jumped in and started the engine, reversing into a slithering half-turn on the muddy ground. Flattened bushes to one side marked where Pachac’s men had left their own vehicles. Three of them, the tyre tracks told him.

Eddie powered down the slope. The Jeep bounced over rocks and roots, the suspension crashing to its limits. He ignored the rough ride – and the jolts of pain it sent through his body. All that mattered was his new mission: catch the rebel convoy.

Pachac would almost certainly be in the lead vehicle. Eddie would have to fight past the other two to get to him.

No problem. He had enough bullets for everyone.

37

Nina and Macy reached the vehicles. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Macy at the sight of the dead men. ‘Why are we going after these guys? We should be trying to get a long, long way away from them!’

Nina ignored her, running to the Nissan Patrol. Eddie had left the key in the ignition. ‘If you don’t want to come with me, then wait here.’

‘No, no, I’m coming,’ said Macy, the presence of the corpses making her decision easier. She got in beside Nina. The redhead turned the key, then guided the big off-roader down the hill.

Pachac looked at his phone again. Still no signal. Once he got into range of the cell tower, though, he would be able to call in more men within hours. The True Red Way had an active membership of close to a hundred, and several times as many sympathisers. It would be tough to remove the Punchaco before government forces reacted, but the longer he could prevent word of El Dorado’s existence from getting out the better . . .

The road narrowed at a bend beneath an overhang of rock ahead – with a truck coming the other way.

‘Mother of God!’ the driver blurted as he braked hard. Maoism and religion may not have been complementary, but some things were too deeply ingrained to remove. Both vehicles stopped. He leaned out of the window. ‘Hey! Back up!’

The sweating, overweight truck driver scowled at him. Under the unwritten rules of the mountain road, the bigger vehicle always had right of way. ‘You back up!’

‘We don’t have time for this shit,’ Pachac growled, drawing a gun and firing it out of his window. The truck’s windscreen shattered. ‘Get out of my way or I’ll kill you!’

The terrified driver decided that unwritten rules were made to be broken and put his truck into reverse, backing up as quickly as he dared. ‘Move,’ Pachac told his own driver. The H3 set off again, almost nose to nose with the lumbering transport. The road widened round the bend, and the driver moved to let the convoy pass.

Even as far over as the truck could possibly go, the gap was actually a few centimetres narrower than the Hummer, nothing but air beneath the rims of its left-side tyres. Pachac’s driver cringed as he edged past the truck, looking down at the near-vertical drop into the clouds below. The H3’s chromed wing mirror scraped against the other vehicle’s cab, and broke off. The driver gave his leader an apologetic look. ‘Maybe we should have stolen something smaller?’

‘Just get going,’ Pachac snapped once they were clear.

Eddie saw a bright yellow Hummer disappear round the overhang about a quarter of a mile ahead, another two vehicles trundling in a line behind it: an old Land Cruiser and a big American pickup truck. Pachac and his men.

He put his foot down, the Jeep jolting over the rutted road. He would soon catch up.

The Land Cruiser slowly followed the Hummer. Even though it was several inches narrower than the American behemoth, its two occupants still tensed as they crawled along less than a hand’s-width from the precipice’s ragged edge. Next, the pickup truck squeezed through, the rebel in the cargo bed leaning out and shouting instructions to the two men in the cab.

The F-150 disappeared from Eddie’s view behind the overhanging cliff. The time the larger vehicles had taken to squeeze past the obstruction meant that he was now almost upon them.

He slowed to pass the stationary truck, then readied the Kalashnikov.

‘There he is!’ Macy cried, pointing ahead.

Nina saw the Jeep go out of sight around a narrow bend. ‘I just hope we can reach him before he gets himself killed,’ she said, guiding the Patrol in pursuit.

The man in the F-150’s pickup bed looked back along the road - and saw a military Jeep coming after them. Fast. He banged on the cab’s rear window. ‘Hey! He’s catching up – tell Inkarrí!’

He drew his gun, an old Colt .38 revolver, as the passenger used a walkie-talkie to relay the message to the Hummer.

Pachac listened to the urgent radio report, twisting in his seat. The Land Cruiser filled most of the view behind, but the road’s curves gave him a glimpse of what was happening beyond.

He didn’t like what he saw. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he shouted into his radio. ‘Kill him!’

Eddie saw the Ford pickup slowing, its occupants getting ready to attack. One man in the back, holding on to the F-150’s rollbar, and from the silhouettes it looked like two in the cab.

No rifles; they must have lost them in the flood. The guy in the rear bed was instead taking aim with a pistol—

The Englishman had something bigger. He fired the AK-47 through the broken windscreen.

The rebel got off three shots, but firing single-handed from a jolting vehicle didn’t even hit the speeding Jeep, never mind its driver. Eddie’s shooting was just as wild – but with far more bullets. One clanged off the pickup’s tailgate, another cracking the rear window – and a third tore into the gunman’s chest in a gout of blood. The man fell backwards, his clothing catching on one of the rollbar’s lamp brackets to leave him hanging against the cab, the revolver clattering to the metal floor.

But the passenger in the front was bringing up an automatic. Eddie fired again—

Two shots – and the Kalashnikov’s bolt stopped with a dry clack. Out of ammo.

He dropped the AK and ducked as the rebel fired. More bullets struck the Jeep, shattering a headlight, ripping another hole through the already damaged radiator with a shrill of escaping steam.

And hitting a wheel.

The tyre didn’t blow out, the thick, heavily treaded rubber only holed, but the effect on the Jeep was immediate. The steering wheel jerked in Eddie’s hands as the vehicle pulled to the left, towards the cliff. He dragged it back into line. But the vibration grew worse as the tyre deflated, the 4×4 harder to control with every second.

The shooting stopped. Eddie raised his head. The gunman was fumbling for a replacement magazine.

The Jeep swerved back towards the precipice. He forced the steering wheel hard over to the right, but the tyre was almost flat, weaving on the wheel rim. A few more seconds and it would collapse . . .

He snatched up the empty AK-47 and jammed its stock down on the accelerator. The Jeep surged forward, engine screaming. He wedged the rifle’s barrel against the front seat and jumped up, gripping the steering wheel in one hand as he clambered over the broken windscreen on to the bonnet.

The man in the cab had slapped in a new magazine. He turned to fire—

Eddie lined up the Jeep with the pickup, and let go of the wheel as his vehicle rammed the Ford from behind.

He was flung over the tailgate into the cargo bed – and slammed against the corpse hanging from the rollbar. The breath was knocked from him, but the body cushioned his landing, the damaged rear windscreen behind it shattering and spraying the gunman in the cab with glittering fragments.

Eddie dropped heavily into the pickup bed, the angular body of the Steyr inside his jacket digging painfully into his ribs. The revolutionary shook off broken glass and turned again to find his target—

Eddie grabbed the fallen revolver and fired three shots at the cab’s back wall.

Bullets ripped through the rebel’s seat into his body. He fell against the passenger-side door, which burst open. He rolled out of the cab with a shriek of terror that was cut short as he was crushed under the wheels of the still speeding Jeep.

The 4×4 swerved sharply as it bounded over the human speed bump, veering at the cliff—

‘No!’ Nina screamed as she watched the Jeep sail off the road and arc down into the valley. ‘Eddie, oh my God!’

‘He’s okay, he’s okay!’ Macy desperately reassured her. ‘He jumped into the truck!’

‘He what? Oh, Jesus Christ . . .’ Nina gasped for breath, the horror of what she thought she had just witnessed still clutching at her heart.

Eddie pulled himself up and pointed the revolver into the cab. ‘Stop the truck!’ he yelled at the driver.

The rebel instead clawed inside his wet, grubby jacket. Eddie pulled the trigger—

Click. The hammer fell, but the gun didn’t go off. All the bullets in the cylinder had been fired.

The driver drew his own gun, twisted—

Eddie dropped and rolled as the rebel opened fire. Unable to turn any further without risking losing control of the truck, the driver unleashed a couple more shots blindly over his shoulder. One hit the floor as Eddie jerked out of the way, the other blasting messily through the dangling corpse’s stomach.

Eddie flipped the useless revolver over in his hand. He scrambled forward and lunged through the broken rear window, brutally cracking the empty gun against the driver’s head like a knuckleduster.

The man reeled, the pickup swerving to the right. Before he could recover, Eddie grabbed his gun hand and slammed it against the window frame, rasping his wrist against the broken glass. The driver yelled in pain and fired again, forcing Eddie to duck – but not before he pushed the weapon’s magazine release button. The automatic’s slide locked back as the mag clattered into the cargo bed.

The driver pulled the trigger twice more, getting nothing but metallic clicks in response. By the time he realised his gun was empty Eddie had shoved the corpse over the truck’s side and reached into the cab to hook an arm round his neck. Choking, the driver struggled to break free – then saw that the truck was heading for the side of the little wooden bridge. He yanked at the steering wheel—

The F-150 lurched, tilting on its suspension and throwing Eddie sideways. He lost his hold on the driver and reeled across the cargo bed, almost falling out before grabbing the rollbar.

The passenger door swung open and hit the bridge’s fence with a huge bang. It was ripped away, spinning backwards. The mangled metal scythed past Eddie, slashing the back of his jacket.

The driver regained control, straightening out. Eddie was about to attack again when he saw something ahead – something that hadn’t been there when the expedition drove up the road. A waterfall spewed down the hillside from high above, pounding the road in a swirling cloud of spray.

He gripped the rollbar tightly as the truck drove through the torrent, crashing across the newly created dip where the muddy track had been washed over the cliff. The driver fought with the wheel as the pickup skidded.

Eddie saw his chance. If he got into the cab through the missing door, he could use the Steyr to kill the driver and immediately take the wheel before the F-150 went out of control.

He drew the gun from his jacket and climbed over the pickup’s side.

The Nissan rounded a bend. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’ Macy gasped, seeing the new waterfall.

Nina looked up for its source. There was only one possible explanation: when the river feeding the falls concealing El Dorado had been blocked, the water rose behind the dam . . . and was now finding other ways downhill. ‘Oh God,’ she said in alarm. ‘This whole valley might flood!’

Eddie swung into the cab, aiming the Steyr at the driver—

The Peruvian hurled his empty gun.

Eddie jerked his head sideways, but the automatic struck his cheek hard enough to draw blood and knocked him backwards. The Steyr dropped into the footwell as he grabbed at the dashboard, missed, toppled through the gaping doorway . . .

His hand clamped round the seatbelt.

It didn’t stop him. The reel unwound, pitching him out of the truck—

Thunk!

The seatbelt’s inertial lock mechanism activated, yanking him to a stop. One hand clutching the belt, Eddie dangled out of the open door, his back almost parallel to the ground.

Grinning sadistically, the driver turned the wheel to smear him against the rock wall.

Eddie grabbed with his free hand for the seatbelt, the door frame, anything – but there was nothing within reach. The cliff face rushed past, getting closer . . .

Something sticking out of the ground, right ahead—

He snatched up the wooden cross and hurled it into the cab.

The driver had turned to watch Eddie’s head hit the wall – but instead took the pointed stake in his left eye. He screamed, reflexively bringing up both hands to pull out the cross. The F-150 swerved away from the wall – and towards the precipice.

The change of direction swung Eddie into reach of the doorframe. He hauled himself inside. The rebel was still screaming, one hand pressed to his face as blood gushed from his eye socket. The truck jolted over the road’s crumbling edge—

Eddie grabbed the wheel. The Ford lurched back across the track, throwing the driver against his door. Flailing for balance, he looked across the cab with his remaining eye – to see Eddie twist in the passenger seat and slam both feet against his chest.

The battered vehicle’s door flew open, the rebel shooting out of it like a cannonball. With an echoing wail, he vanished into the abyss.

Eddie pulled himself across and took the controls, rounding the next bend to see the Land Cruiser and the Hummer ahead. He shut the door, groped for the Steyr, then accelerated after them.

A radio crackled on the parcel shelf, a voice speaking in Spanish. Pachac.

Pachac looked back at the F-150. Only one figure was visible inside it. ‘Mateo, did you get him? Mateo!’

The reply was in English, almost calm despite the struggle that had just taken place. ‘No. He didn’t. He’s dead. And Pachac?’

The terrorist leader exchanged a worried look with his driver before answering. ‘What?’

‘You’re next.’

Pachac stared at the walkie-talkie, then yelled orders to his men in the Land Cruiser. This time, there was no anger in his voice, only fear. ‘Stop him! Kill him! Kill him!’

Eddie dropped the radio, eyes fixed on the two 4×4s ahead. The Land Cruiser was falling back from the H3. He could see two men inside it, the passenger climbing over the seats into the cargo space.

He also glimpsed the unmistakable silhouette of an AK-47 in the rebel’s hands.

The Steyr was wedged under his thigh. He pulled it out and switched it to his left hand. The Toyota was still slowing. The tailgate hatch swung up, the man inside aiming his AK out of it—

Eddie fired his remaining bullets from the side window as he accelerated. The revolutionary ducked for cover behind the lower half of the tailgate. By the time he realised the shooting had stopped and looked up again, the F-150 had caught up—

The Ford slammed into the back of the Land Cruiser. The driver’s head whiplashed backwards as he let go of the controls - and the 4×4 swerved towards the rockface. The man in the back was thrown against the side wall.

Eddie saw an opening and swung to pass the Toyota on the outside. The pickup drew alongside the off-roader. The Ford’s left wheels were less than a foot from the cliff-edge.

The Land Cruiser’s driver shook off his pain and grabbed the wheel, turning hard to sidewipe the F-150—

Eddie did the same thing, trying to ram the Toyota into the hillside. The vehicles clashed together with a crunch of crumpling metal. Eddie’s truck was more powerful, but the Japanese 4×4 was heavier. He turned the wheel harder, but the rebels were bullying him inch by inch towards the precipice.

And the man in the back was raising his rifle again.

Death by fall, or by firepower—

Eddie braked hard – then swerved at full throttle to smash into the Toyota’s back quarter as it pulled ahead. The 4×4 slewed around, almost side-on to the pickup’s blunt nose, before its right rear corner struck the hillside and it abruptly swung back, hitting the rock wall side-on like a door being slammed. The F-150 shot past, ripping off the Land Cruiser’s front bumper.

A glance in the mirror told Eddie that it wasn’t out of the hunt, though. It bounced back across the road, right side caved in, then the driver caught the skid and turned back into pursuit.

The Hummer was not far ahead, its driver being cautious on the dangerous road. Eddie switched his attention back and forth between Pachac’s vehicle and the one in the mirror. Even though he was gaining on the H3, he wouldn’t reach it before the Land Cruiser caught up with him.

An AK poked out of one of the Toyota’s left-side windows. Eddie moved as far over to the right as he could to deny the rebel a clear shot. But the road’s curves meant it would only be a matter of time before he was exposed.

Still closing on the Hummer. Beyond it, he recognised the scenery: they were coming up to where the landslide had deposited tons of mud and stones on the road, the waterfall gushing on to the rubble. The H3 would have to slow to negotiate it – but so would he.

The waterfall—

It had grown enormously since the morning. The stream was now much wider, more powerful.

Realisation of the new threat struck him like the force of the water itself. The flood, caused by the blocking of the river, was building up above, and could overflow at any moment . . .

The Hummer reached the landslide and lurched over the rubble. Eddie speeded up. The Land Cruiser followed suit, still gaining.

Gunfire—

Eddie ducked as bullets clanged off the bodywork behind him. He was almost at the landslip. More shots. The H3 entered the waterfall, spray kicking up from its flat roof. He lined up the F-150 with the ruts carved by other vehicles and pushed the accelerator to the floor. He needed all the momentum he could get—

All four of the Ford’s wheels left the ground as it hit the blockage, then crashed back down with a squeal of poorly maintained suspension. It veered towards the drop, Eddie struggling to bring it back into the ruts. Rocks pounded at the tyres, throwing him about in his seat. Despite his best efforts, he was losing speed. The Land Cruiser grew in the mirror, the gunman firing again.

He had almost reached the waterfall—

No. The waterfall had almost reached him.

It grew wider even as he watched, its edge sweeping along the defoliated swathe of the cliff above. Stones tumbled down the mountainside.

The river was about to burst its banks—

The F-150 plunged into the waterfall. The torrent exploded into the cab through the missing door, the force of the water throwing the truck sideways. Eddie frantically spun the steering wheel, trying to turn back towards the cliff-face. He couldn’t see anything, froth obliterating all vision. All he had left was his sense of balance, which told him the truck was tipping over as it slid closer to the edge of the road . . .

The sickening feeling of being about to fall suddenly faded. He had somehow found traction in the mud. He didn’t know why, but took advantage of his apparent luck, applying more power. The truck levelled out.

The deluge eased, giving him a rippling, distorted view through the windscreen. The Hummer was a yellow shimmer ahead. He looked back – and saw where the extra grip had come from. The pickup bed was full of water, putting well over a ton of extra road-hugging weight on to the rear wheels.

Water sloshed around his feet. He opened the door to let it gush out. The truck was struggling, but continued its lumbering journey.

He emerged from the falls. The Hummer was still negotiating the remains of the landslide. A loud bang from behind, and the F-150 shook violently – he thought a tyre had exploded, until he saw that the tailgate had burst open, the trapped water sluicing out of the back.

A dark shape emerged from the downpour in the mirror. The Land Cruiser was right behind him. The gunman leaned from the window again, AK raised—

A new noise from above, a colossal ground-shaking boom as the weight of millions of gallons of trapped water finally overwhelmed the earth containing it.

The waterfall Eddie had just passed through was barely a trickle compared to the wave that surged over the hilltop. Thousands of tons of soil and boulders were swept down the cliff into the valley below.

Eddie floored the accelerator, aiming the Ford at the Hummer. Shadows swelled around him as the great mass of muddy water descended like a shroud.

It hit the road, blasting away the debris of the landslide as if jet-washing the mountain. A massive rock flattened the Land Cruiser and the two rebels inside it, what little was left of the vehicle whirling away into the maelstrom. More stones hit the pickup like meteorites. The windscreen shattered as the roof buckled under the impacts.

A swelling, churning wave snatched up the F-150. Fear froze Eddie’s heart as he thought he was being flung to his death into the void – then he realised he was being carried along the road, not off it, the water finding a ready-made channel down which to run. But he was out of control, the truck tossed like a cork on the wavecrest . . .

A flash of yellow—

The pickup hit the Hummer. Both vehicles slewed round, wheels scraping sidelong over the road as the water swept them along. For an instant, Eddie found himself looking straight at Pachac, the Maoist leader staring back at him wide-eyed through the H3’s window.

Then the Hummer slipped away – and went over the edge.

Eddie had no time to rejoice, or think about anything but his own survival. The steering wheel jerked in his hands as the pickup was carried down the track. If the tyres could find enough grip for him to steer, just for a second, he could try to wedge the F-150 against the hillside—

He didn’t get the second he needed, or even close. The current whirled the truck round. The front wheels dropped sharply, the pickup hanging briefly on the brink . . . then the sodden soil collapsed beneath it and pitched it over the cliff.

38

Nina skidded the Patrol to a desperate emergency stop as the seething wave crashed down the hillside ahead. ‘Holy shit!’

‘Over there!’ said Macy, pointing down the steep slope on the far side of the deluge. Nina saw the yellow Hummer skittering down the hill – and the pickup truck following it over the edge of the road.

The truck Eddie was driving.

She wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

Pachac and his driver screamed as the H3 picked up speed down the steepening slope. The only thing between them and the clouds filling the valley below was a rocky outcrop, a gnarled tree jutting sidelong from it—

The Hummer hit the protruding rock nose-first. The airbags fired, but with neither man wearing a seatbelt they were still slammed brutally forward. Another impact followed as the H3 tipped back and hit the cliff, ending up wedged against the rockface.

Even through his pain and disorientation, Pachac knew he had to get clear as quickly as possible. He swatted away the airbag’s flaccid remains and opened the door. The thin build-up of dirt in which the tree had taken root was already being washed away by the water flowing down the cliff – and with over two tons of automobile on top of it, the rock would probably soon go the same way.

He dragged himself out. ‘Come on,’ he rasped. ‘We’ve got—’

Noise above. Not water, not rock. Metal. He looked up.

Something rushed down the hillside towards him—

Even as the F-150 went over the edge, Eddie was turning the wheel, trying to aim the truck at a tree he had glimpsed below. His chances of reaching it were almost zero, but a minuscule hope of survival was better than no hope at all. He leaned out of the open door as the abused vehicle rushed down the slope—

The Hummer was perched on the rock supporting the tree - off to the side.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Not in the truck—

Eddie dived out, twisting in freefall to land on his back . . .

He hit the Hummer’s roof with such force that all its windows exploded, the expanse of sheet metal crumpling beneath him as the F-150 shot past, missing the rock by inches. The pain was so intense it overwhelmed his senses.

Taste returned first, the metallic sting of blood in his mouth. Other pains reported in throughout his body as he tried to move. His spine was ablaze – broken? No, he realised as his limbs achingly responded, but it could hardly hurt much more.

He forced his eyes open. The tree was a wavering blur, the light from the sky beyond its branches almost painful. All his body wanted to do was lie still and fade away . . .

Pachac.

The thought of the Peruvian pulled him back. Where was Pachac? He had been in the Hummer, and Eddie was now on the Hummer. He had a mission. Make him pay for what he had done to Mac. Catch him. Kill him.

The pain made the cold, ruthless detachment of his pursuit impossible to maintain, animal rage sawing at the clinical parts of his mind. He channelled it, controlled it, used it as fuel as he slowly rolled on his side.

Pachac lay on the rock below.

Their gazes locked on to each other. Disbelief filled the rebel’s eyes, fury Eddie’s. The pain vanished as the Englishman threw himself at the revolutionary leader—

The mangled Hummer tipped into the abyss behind him with a grind of metal and the driver’s petrified scream, but Eddie didn’t even notice, fixated on Pachac. The Peruvian managed to scramble aside as he landed, the desperation of self-preservation overcoming his own pain. He jumped up and backed towards the tree, fumbling in his wet clothing as Eddie advanced. ‘The rock is going to fall!’ Pachac cried as stones clattered down around him, dislodged from their homes by the muddy deluge. The waterfall’s full force was already fading, the bulk of the flood released in a single great burst, but it would be some time before all the escaped water found its way down to the bottom of the valley. ‘If we fight here, we both die!’

‘So long as you go first,’ Eddie growled.

Pachac flinched as he backed against the tree. His search became more panicked as Eddie drew closer – then he found what he wanted.

His knife.

The savage blade snapped out. Eddie stopped, eyes fixed on the weapon, waiting for Pachac to make his move.

The Peruvian misinterpreted his hesitation as fear, a sneering smile creeping on to his face. ‘Yeah, you should be scared,’ he hissed, stepping forward. ‘You know how many I have gutted with this knife?’ The smile widened into a twisted, demonic grin. ‘I don’t know myself. I stopped counting at twenty.’ Another step, the knife sweeping from side to side like a cobra assessing its prey.

Eddie held his ground, still watching the weapon. The blade kept moving, left, to right, to left . . .

Forward—

The knife jerked at his stomach, but Eddie’s hands were already in motion, grabbing Pachac’s wrist and deflecting the attack. Even so, the Peruvian’s brute strength almost caught him, the blade stabbing through the sodden lining of his jacket.

Still clutching the rebel’s arm with his left hand, he lashed out with his right to chop at Pachac’s throat. Pachac jerked back, but still took the edge of Eddie’s palm to his larynx. He gasped, choking.

Eddie smashed Pachac’s knife hand down against his knee, trying to force him to drop the blade. Another hit, but the Peruvian’s fingers were still clenched tightly round the hilt. A third blow, and it slipped—

The knife clattered on to the rock just as Pachac recovered his breath and lashed out with his other arm, the muscular limb thudding against the base of Eddie’s neck like a club. Eddie struck back, trying to crush Pachac’s nose, but only hit his chin. Another blow dropped the Englishman to his knees. Pachac’s own knee crashed against his head. Eddie fell on his back, struggling to get up—

Pachac’s hands locked around Eddie’s throat and squeezed.

The strength of the Peruvian’s fingers was incredible. Eddie clawed at them, but they were as unyielding as steel. ‘Capacocha,’ the revolutionary leader snarled. ‘This is what happens to all enemies of the Inkarrí!’

Eddie tried to bend back and snap one of his little fingers, but even that was too strong for him to move. He shifted his hands to the rock, groping for a weapon – afallen stone, a piece of wood . . .

But his fingers found nothing. He flailed, writhing along the outcrop in a last desperate attempt to break free. Pachac moved with him, mouth widening into a triumphant grin—

Eddie felt a spike of pain in his hand. Something very sharp.

He grabbed it, striking with the last of his strength—

The knife stabbed into Pachac’s arm, tearing between the bones to burst out from the inside of his wrist in a spray of blood. He screamed, releasing his hold and stumbling away.

Still clutching the bloodied knife, Eddie sat up, straining to draw air through his bruised throat—

The rock jolted.

A split opened up where it jutted from the cliff, flowing water eagerly rushing into the new space and washing out the earth acting as natural mortar. The outcrop dropped a couple of inches, halting with a crunch. The rebel fell on his back.

Eddie jumped up and hurdled Pachac, making a flying leap at the tree—

The rock dropped away from under him, ripping out of the cliff like a tooth from a diseased gum. He hit the tree, grabbed it – and slipped.

Falling—

He caught a protruding root with one hand – and slammed the knife into the wood with the other, arresting his fall.

Then was almost torn loose.

Pachac’s hand was locked round his ankle.

Some of the roots had wound their way into the cliff’s cracks, holding the tree in place, but the men’s combined weight was pulling them out. Eddie kicked at the Peruvian’s fingers, hearing a cry from below, but before he could strike again Pachac managed to grab his boot with his other hand. Even with an injured wrist, his grip was still fiercely strong.

Another snap of roots. ‘Pull us up!’ Pachac cried. ‘The tree is going to fall – pull us up!’

Eddie looked down at him . . . and the anger returned. Not taking his eyes off the revolutionary, he jerked his hand from side to side, working the knife out of the root.

Pachac saw the movement. ‘What – what are you doing? No! You’ll kill us both!’

Eddie said nothing, still tugging at the knife. The wood creaked, splintering – then the blade pulled free.

Both men swung away from the cliff, Eddie supporting them with only one hand. The tree swayed sharply. Pachac stifled a shriek, toes scrabbling at the rock. He knew that if he risked finding a handhold, his other hand would be kicked until his fingers broke.

Straining, Eddie reached down as far as he could, and slowly, painfully, pulled up his legs to bring Pachac into range of the knife. The Peruvian realised what he was about to do, and his face filled with helpless horror. ‘No! Don’t do it! Please!’

Jaw clenched, Eddie held the knife poised above the other man’s hand. ‘This is for what you did to Mac.’

Pachac tried again to find a foothold, failed. ‘Who? Who is Mac?’

‘My friend. You killed him.’

‘The government man?’

Disgust rose inside Eddie. The bastard didn’t even remember! He dug the knife’s point into the back of Pachac’s hand, making him gasp. ‘Grey hair! Beard! Know who I mean now, you fucking piece of shit?’

‘The old man?’ There was genuine confusion behind the fear. ‘But – I never touched him!’

‘No. You shot him. In the back.’ He slowly turned the knife. Blood ran from the wound, oozing down Pachac’s arm. ‘But I want to look you in the face . . . when I do this.’

He stabbed the knife through the Peruvian’s hand and twisted it, hard. There was a sharp crack of bone. Pachac screamed in agony and terror as he lost his grip. He hung for a moment on his injured arm – then Eddie smashed his heel down and snapped two of his fingers. Pachac dropped away, Eddie watching coldly as he vanished into the clouds below. The scream continued after he disappeared, fading to nothing.

The tree shook violently with the release of weight. Eddie stabbed the knife back into the root, pulling himself up. Dirt and grit showered over him. At any moment, it would rip away from the cliff—

He lunged for a solid nub of rock to one side, clawing at the stone as the tree plunged into the valley. Branches slashed at him as the tree fell, trying to drag him down with it. He yelled, battling to keep his grip – then it was gone, tumbling down the cliff to be swallowed by the blankness beneath.

Eddie dangled, recovering his breath. His anger receded as the reality of his situation sank in. The road was sixty or seventy feet above. How the hell was he going to get up there? He scraped his boots against the rock, but only found enough purchase to support the tip of one foot. Bracing himself, he experimentally reached higher for a handhold. All his fingertips found was slick, treacherous wet mud caking every surface. Unclimbable.

‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘buggeration and f—’

Clank!

A noise above. Metal on stone. He looked up – and saw a hook scraping down the cliff towards him.

Nina! It had to be. He waited until the hook, at the end of a steel winch cable, was within reach, then grabbed it with one hand and tugged repeatedly to signal that he had a firm hold. It stopped. He locked his other hand over the first, then pushed himself out from the rockface with his feet.

The cable retracted. He rose with it, boots rasping over the rock. Before long he saw the expedition’s Nissan Patrol at the edge of the road – and a familiar face gazing anxiously down at him.

‘Eddie!’ Nina shouted. ‘Oh, thank God, thank God!’

‘Are you okay?’ he called.

Macy was at the 4×4’s winch, relief plain on her face. ‘Are we okay?’ she said in disbelief. ‘You just went over a cliff, and you’re worried about us? We didn’t even know if you were still down there!’

‘Then why’d you throw down the cable?’

‘Because I was sure that you were,’ said Nina, pulling the line to help him up the last few feet. He scrambled on to the muddy road, looked into her eyes . . . then, wordlessly, they embraced.

Macy eventually broke the silence. ‘What happened to Pachac?’

Eddie’s voice was flat. ‘He’s dead.’

Nina eased her hold and leaned back. ‘What about you? How . . . how are you feeling?’

It took a few seconds for him to provide an answer. ‘I’m okay.’ In truth, he didn’t know what he was feeling – or even if he felt anything at all. He had expected some sort of catharsis at Pachac’s death, a release of anger or satisfaction or a sense that justice had been done . . . but there was nothing, just an empty numbness.

‘You sure?’ There was concern in her voice.

‘Yeah.’ He looked away, at the Patrol. ‘Get the satphone. We need to call this in.’

The chatter of rotor blades echoed off the cliffs around the entrance to El Dorado. This time, though, the helicopters were not gunships but transport aircraft, both civil and military. Nina’s call to the Peruvian government, telling them what had happened – and what she had found – brought a rapid response, the first soldiers arriving to secure the area within an hour.

More troops soon followed, accompanied by civilian officials. Taking charge of the operation was Felipe Alvarado, Zender’s superior and head of the Ministry of Culture. In his late fifties, he had a weary, cynical face that suggested he’d seen it all – but his astounded expression when he emerged from the cave proved that that was not the case. ‘Dr Wilde!’ he cried. ‘This is amazing, incredible! El Dorado, real – and in my country!’

Nina was too exhausted to respond with similar enthusiasm. ‘Yeah. It’s a hell of a thing.’

‘The lost city of gold – it is almost too much to believe. I admit, when the IHA first asked permission to search for it, I did not believe it.’

‘Is that why you sent Zender instead of coming yourself?’

Alvarado’s gaze moved to the edge of the drained pool, where several forms lay beneath sheets: some of those killed inside the cave, recovered by the soldiers. ‘Oh, Diego,’ he said with a tinge of sadness. ‘He wanted to be in the news, for everyone to know his name. But not like this.’

‘Nobody wants to be remembered like this,’ Nina said.

‘No.’ He gazed at the bodies for a moment, then looked back at the cavern. Several soldiers were making their way down the collapsed wall, bearing more corpses on stretchers. The first was dressed in dirty and mismatched camouflage gear; one of the revolutionaries. ‘But something good has come from this,’ Alvarado continued. ‘Pachac and his butchers are dead. You have done my country a great favour by killing them.’

‘I’m sure my husband’ll be thrilled to hear that,’ said Nina bitterly, eyes fixed on another of the bodies being brought out.

Mac.

‘He should be,’ said Alvarado. ‘But I am sorry for the loss of your friends.’

‘Thank you.’

He was about to add something when an official called out to him. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, moving away to speak to his subordinate. On the way he passed Eddie, returning from having his injuries treated by a Peruvian army medic. The Englishman stopped when he saw Mac, watching as he was placed alongside the other corpses. A soldier prepared to pull a sheet over the unmoving figure.

‘No!’ Eddie snapped, hurrying over. ‘I’ll do it.’ He crouched and took hold of the sheet . . . but didn’t pull it up. Instead, he stared down at his friend’s still, pale face.

Nina joined him. Seconds passed, Eddie still holding the sheet in silence. Finally, she spoke. ‘Eddie?’

He twitched, as if surprised to hear her voice, then abruptly pulled the sheet over Mac’s head and stood. ‘What?’

‘I’m so sorry. Are . . . are you okay?’ She gently touched his arm.

He pulled away – only slightly, but enough to give her a shock of dismay, rejection. ‘No. I’m not.’

‘What can I do? Do you want anything?’

‘I just need to think.’ Face set and unreadable, he turned away and limped towards the nearby trees.

‘Eddie . . .’ Nina said quietly, her voice tailing off with the hopeless feeling that nothing she could say would help.

‘Nina?’ Macy, approaching with Kit and Osterhagen. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Not really,’ Nina replied, still watching Eddie’s retreat.

Macy’s lips quivered as she realised who was under the sheet. ‘Oh, that’s . . . Mr McCrimmon. Oh . . .’ Tears welled in her eyes.

Kit, looking equally stricken, put a hand on her shoulder. His sleeve had been cut away, the bullet wound to his arm bandaged. ‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ he said quietly, as much to himself as to her.

Osterhagen was also solemn as he regarded the bodies. ‘None of this should. So many deaths. All because of gold, the greed for gold.’

‘Five centuries, and nothing’s changed,’ Nina said sadly.

‘Maybe some day it will,’ said Kit.

‘I wish it could. But I doubt it. People never change.’ She looked back at her husband, seeing him standing at the edge of the clearing, head bowed. ‘I need to be with Eddie,’ she said, starting after him. But she had no idea what she could possibly say to comfort him.

A Peruvian official bustled past her, holding a satellite phone. ‘Mr Jindal! A call for you. From Interpol.’

Kit took the phone. ‘Yes, this is Jindal.’

‘This is Alexander Stikes,’ said the crisp English voice from the other end of the line. Kit froze. ‘I’d like to offer you a deal . . . ’

39

The panoramic windows of the villa in which the Peruvian government had housed the surviving explorers looked out across Lima from the city’s southeastern hills, but even though he was facing the view Eddie’s eyes weren’t taking in the spectacular burning sky of a Pacific sunset beyond the darkening capital. His focus was directed inwards.

Kit hesitated at the door before steeling himself and entering. He stood beside Eddie’s chair, gazing in silence at the vista outside for a long moment, then finally summoned the courage to speak. ‘Eddie?’

Eddie didn’t seem to have registered his presence, until a fractional tilt of his head brought the Indian into his eyeline. ‘Eddie,’ Kit repeated, ‘I just wanted to say that . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Mac. It shouldn’t have happened.’

‘No. It shouldn’t.’ There was an odd, almost mechanical feel to Eddie’s eventual response, rusty gears slowly grinding to life.

‘If he hadn’t decided to destroy the helicopter, if he hadn’t been in that place at that time . . . it wouldn’t have. He’d still be alive. If he hadn’t gone after Stikes . . .’

‘Stikes.’ The word was a growl. ‘You shouldn’t talk to me about Stikes.’

A cold fear swept through Kit’s body. Eddie couldn’t possibly know about the phone call – could he? ‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re a cop. And I’m going to murder that fucker.’

He tried to conceal his relief. ‘I think this is one occasion where I would be willing to look the other way.’

Eddie nodded, then sank back into silence. Kit felt compelled to keep speaking. ‘He was a good man. Brave and honourable.’ He looked down at the floor, shaking his head.

Someone tentatively cleared their throat. Kit turned to see one of the villa’s staff, a pretty young maid, standing in the doorway holding a cordless telephone. ‘Excuse, please, Mr Jindal?’ she said. ‘Telephone for you.’

Kit glanced at Eddie, then went to her and took the phone. ‘Hello?’

‘Jindal.’ It was Stikes. ‘Have you discussed my proposal with your superiors?’

He took a breath before answering. ‘Yes.’

‘And?’

Another look at Eddie, this time surreptitious, to make sure he wasn’t listening. But he appeared completely detached from the rest of the world. ‘Yes, they agree.’

‘Good. And did you tell them I want to meet one of their representatives in person? Not an errand boy like you.’

‘I did,’ Kit said through his teeth. ‘Someone is on the way.’

‘Excellent. In that case, there’s a town called San Bartolo, twenty miles south of Lima on the Panamerica Highway. About two miles past it is a pumping station for the gas pipeline, number fourteen. Meet me there in one hour.’

‘San Bartolo, station fourteen,’ Kit echoed. ‘All right, I’ll be there.’ He returned the handset to the maid. ‘Eddie, I have to meet some people from Interpol. I think we might have a lead on the statues. Will you be all right?’

The Englishman remained still, not even moving his eyes to look at him. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Okay. I’ll see you later.’ He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. ‘Again, I’m so sorry about Mac. I’m sorry.’

Eddie didn’t reply.

Freshly showered and in clean clothes, Nina left her room and went downstairs to look for Eddie. Instead, she found Kit in the villa’s hall, donning a jacket. ‘Are you leaving?’ she asked.

‘I have to meet someone.’

‘Interpol?’

A conflicted look crossed his face. ‘Not exactly,’ he replied after a moment. ‘Look, don’t say anything to Eddie, but . . . it’s about Stikes. He’s offered to hand over the statues.’

‘What? You’re kidding!’

‘No, I think he really means it. He wants to make a deal – in exchange for immunity.’

Nina frowned. ‘I don’t think the Venezuelans will be thrilled about that.’

‘I’m not happy about it either. But nothing has been finalised. I’m on my way to meet . . . his representative, to see what his terms are. If Interpol accepts them, he’ll give us the statues.’

Nina was torn by the prospect. ‘As much as I want them back, I don’t like the idea of that son of a bitch getting an amnesty. But . . . ’

‘If there is a chance we can recover the statues, I think we should take it. At least that way, the people who died trying to find them won’t have given their lives for nothing.’

‘People like Mac,’ she said unhappily. ‘Is that why you don’t want to mention this to Eddie?’

‘Yes. I was talking to him a few minutes ago, and he got angry just at the mention of Stikes’s name. If he found out we were negotiating with him, I think his reaction would be a lot stronger.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ She looked down the hall. ‘Is he in the lounge?’ Kit nodded. ‘Let me know what happens. And good luck.’

‘Thank you.’ Kit departed, and Nina headed for the lounge.

She found Eddie still in the same chair where she had left him, contemplating the sunset. ‘Hey,’ she said, perching on the chair’s arm and gently resting her hand on his chest. ‘You okay?’

This time, at least he didn’t pull away from her touch, but neither did he respond to it. ‘I know what you’re feeling right now,’ she continued. ‘I’ve been there; I’ve lost people who were close to me. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, and I always will be. Whatever you need, just ask me.’

He stirred, jaw muscles tightening. ‘I didn’t lose Mac,’ he said in a low voice. ‘He was taken.’

‘I know. And I know what that’s like too. It happened to Rowan, remember?’

‘It’s not the same. It’s—’ He stumbled, struggling to put his thoughts into words. ‘Mac was different. You don’t know what it was like, what he meant to me.’

‘He was my friend too, Eddie. I’m going to miss him just as much.’

Now there was a distinct edge to his voice. ‘No, you won’t. Mac wasn’t just a friend. I would’ve—’ He choked off, taking a sharp breath. ‘I would have died for him. That’s what he meant to me. And he would’ve done the same for me. You wouldn’t understand.’

Nina tried to suppress a flare of anger. ‘I do understand. And I do know what it feels like. My parents were murdered, remember?’ She experienced a sudden resurgence of loss, rising on the back of her current feelings. ‘I know. Believe me, I know.’

They both fell silent. For a couple of minutes, the only sound was their breathing. Then: ‘Excuse, please?’

Nina looked round to see the maid. ‘Yes?’

‘Telephone, from IHA.’ Nina held out a hand, but the maid shook her head. ‘For Mr Chase.’

Slightly surprised, Nina passed the phone to Eddie. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Lola, hi. What is it?’

He listened to Lola. ‘But it’s the middle of the night over there,’ he objected. Nina could faintly hear her assistant’s voice as she replied; even at this level, she detected a worried urgency. ‘Okay, thanks,’ Eddie said, disconnecting, and punching in a new number.

‘What’s wrong?’ Nina asked.

‘Lizzie’s been trying to get hold of me. Lola said it’s urgent.’

‘Nan?’

Eddie’s look said as much as any words. He stood and put the phone to his ear, anxiously awaiting an answer. ‘Lizzie, it’s me,’ he finally said. ‘I just got your message. What is it?’

He paced back and forth before the windows as he listened to his sister. Nina watched with growing concern as his expression became increasingly stony, his interjections more terse – a sign that he was putting up his shields as a reaction to bad news. Finally he stopped, and with a simple ‘Okay. Right,’ ended the call.

Nina almost didn’t want to ask the obvious question, because she was sure she already knew the answer. But she had to. ‘What did Elizabeth say?’

‘She said . . .’ Eddie began, before his voice shrank to a dry croak. He swallowed, then spoke again. ‘She said that Nan died today.’

Even though it was expected, the news was still a painful shock. ‘Oh, God,’ said Nina. ‘Eddie, I’m sorry.’

‘It wasn’t her lungs,’ he went on quietly. ‘They thought she was responding well to the oxygen therapy. But apparently there’s some side effect of emphysema, something about blood building up in the liver – I dunno, I didn’t really understand it. But that suddenly got worse, so they took her to hospital, and that’s . . . that’s where . . .’

Abruptly, he hurled the telephone at the wall. It shattered. The maid shrieked in fright, then fled as Eddie grabbed the chair and flung it across the room. It hit a small table, wood flying as both pieces of furniture smashed. ‘Fuck!’ he roared, running after the chair and stamping on its remains in a fury.

‘Eddie, stop!’ Nina cried, hurrying to him. ‘Please, stop! Please!’

He dropped to his knees amongst the wreckage. ‘Oh, God!’ he gasped, voice trembling. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Nina crouched, putting her arms round him. ‘I’m here, I’m here. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay . . .’

‘No it’s not – it’s not going to be fucking okay!’ He pulled away from her and stood, kicking away debris. ‘You know what one of the last things Nan said was? Just before she died? She asked where I was. She wanted to know why I wasn’t there with the rest of her family. I should have been there – I could have been there if it hadn’t been for your fucking statues!’

Nina recoiled, shocked, as his rage was turned on her – then stiffened as the injustice of the accusation stoked her own suppressed anger. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘Isn’t it? If you hadn’t been looking for them, Mac wouldn’t have come to South America, and I would have been able to stay in England with Nan.’

‘We had to find them. That’s part of the IHA’s job – making sure things like that don’t fall into the wrong hands.’

‘And Stikes is the right fucking hands?’ he yelled. ‘If we’d just left everything alone, things would have been fine! We had two of them, Callas didn’t give a shit about the first piece, and nobody would ever have found the second one! What’s all this got us, except for people killed?’

She struggled to keep her temper under control, knowing that he was under immense emotional pressure. ‘We’ve been here before, Eddie. When Mitzi died, while we were looking for Excalibur. Remember?’

‘Course I fucking remember. And you know who got me through it? Mac! Who’s going to get me through this?’

‘I will!’

‘But it’s your fucking fault!’

Nina felt as though she had been slapped. ‘I can’t believe you said that.’

It looked for a moment as if even he knew he had gone too far . . . but then his gaze snapped to something behind her. ‘What?’ he demanded.

Nina turned to see the maid waiting almost fearfully in the doorway, clutching a replacement telephone handset. ‘I’m sorry, but . . . another telephone call. For Dr Wilde.’

‘Tell ’em to fuck off,’ Eddie snarled.

‘No, but . . . it is the president of Peru!’

‘And? Tell him to fuck off!’

The young woman seemed on the verge of tears. Nina shot Eddie a furious look, then went to her. ‘I’ll take it,’ she said.

‘Work always comes first with you, doesn’t it?’ Eddie said bitterly. Nina held in an angry reply as she took the phone.

The call was short, but straight to the point. ‘I have to go,’ she told Eddie with reluctance. ‘The President wants to see me.’

‘Now?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You should have said no.’

‘I can’t face having two arguments at once.’ She returned the handset to the maid, who made as rapid an exit as etiquette would allow. ‘They’re sending a car. I’ll be back as soon as I can. We can talk then. If you’ve calmed down.’

‘Never been calmer,’ rumbled Eddie, tapping a piece of the broken chair with his foot as she left.

The sky over Lima had darkened, the city coming alive with sparkling pinpoints. But Eddie now had his back to the view, sitting on a couch in the fading half-light. The smashed furniture was still strewn across the floor, the maid not having dared return to clean it up.

He heard footsteps and raised his eyes to see Macy at the doorway. ‘Eddie? Why are you in the dark – jeez!’ She saw the wreckage. ‘What happened?’

‘I had words with the chair,’ Eddie said drily. He had managed to recover his composure since Nina’s departure, but was still simmering inside, grief and anger and confusion all swirling in a toxic mix.

‘Uh-huh . . . ’ Macy entered cautiously. ‘Where’s Nina?’

‘Busy.’ He said the word with a caustic sourness. ‘She went to talk to the President.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Of America?’

‘Of Peru.’

They fell again, considerably less impressed. ‘Oh.’ She went to the window, twitching fingers betraying her awkwardness before she finally spoke her mind. ‘I, ah . . . heard you two arguing. While I was in the shower, so I guess it must have been a big one.’

‘You could say that.’

‘What was it about?’

Tact and subtlety had never been Macy’s strong points, but Eddie managed to hold back a scathing reply; she was also genuinely concerned. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said instead. ‘All started because I got some bad news.’

‘What?’

He took a deep breath. ‘My nan died.’

‘Your nan? Oh!’ exclaimed Macy, as she realised she had met her. She hurried to the couch and sat beside him. ‘Oh no, I’m sorry. That’s terrible. She was so sweet!’

‘Yeah, she was,’ said Eddie.

‘God, I’m really sorry. And right after Mac as well—’ She clamped her mouth shut, appalled at her own insensitivity. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

Eddie gave her a small, sad smile. ‘Don’t worry about it. This really has been a fucking shitty day all round. At least it can’t get any worse.’

‘I’m still sorry,’ she said. ‘Can I – is there anything you want?’

‘My nan back. And Mac.’

Macy wasn’t sure how to react to that, until Eddie eased her mind with another faint smile. ‘Mr McCrimmon really meant a lot to you, didn’t he?’ she said. ‘How long have you known him?’

‘A long time. It was . . .’ He worked it out. ‘Christ, over sixteen years, when I first joined the SAS. God knows why, but he took me under his wing.’

‘He must have seen something good in you,’ Macy suggested.

‘Again, God knows why. But yeah, he sorted me out. I was a bit of an arsehole when I was younger. Bad attitude, aggressive . . .’

She glanced at the demolished chair. ‘You don’t say.’

‘Oi! You want me to have words with you too?’ But it was said lightly, not with anger. ‘He got me through a lot of stuff. I’d be dead ten times over if it hadn’t been for him – not just when I was in the Regiment. He taught me pretty much everything I know. And I don’t mean about being a soldier, I mean about . . . about being a good person. About doing the right thing.’

‘I don’t think that’s something you can teach,’ Macy said quietly. ‘It’s something that’s there already.’

‘But he brought it out, taught me to never give up. “Fight to the end”, that was his motto. It—’ He broke off, voice catching. ‘It was the last thing he said before he died.’ He lowered his head. ‘Christ. I shouldn’t have left him. I shouldn’t have let him come at all, but . . . ’ He sat up, misery returning with self-recrimination. ‘If I’d gone with Kit to find him instead of going after Stikes, he’d still be alive. I had an AK, I would have been able to take out Pachac, and Mac could have blown up the chopper before it took off. But I didn’t, and Pachac shot him and Kit – so Stikes got away. It’s all my fault.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Macy insisted. ‘You can’t blame yourself. And it couldn’t have . . .’ She paused, frowning.

‘What?’

‘I’m not sure, but . . . ’ The frown deepened as she tried to remember the sequence of events in the lost city. ‘Pachac couldn’t have done what he did until after Stikes got away.’

‘No, he must have done,’ Eddie countered. ‘Mac told me he was about to take out Stikes’s chopper when he got shot. Kit said so as well – Pachac caught them by surprise.’

Macy shook her head. ‘No, that’s wrong. I met Kit just as the chopper was going out of the cave, and he hadn’t been hurt yet.’

‘You sure? Maybe you got things mixed up.’

‘A helicopter taking off is kind of memorable,’ she said testily. ‘It was already in the air when I met Kit. And he definitely hadn’t been shot. But he said—’ Her confused look returned.

‘What?’

‘He said that Pachac and his men had just gone past – up to where we found him and Mr McCrimmon.’

‘But Mac wasn’t with him?’

‘No. Actually, he said he hadn’t seen him.’

‘And this was after the gunship took off?’

‘Yes, I’m sure of it.’

He leaned forward, thinking. If there was one person in the world he trusted to give a completely accurate account of events, even on the brink of death, it was his former commanding officer. Mac was right. Therefore Macy had to be wrong.

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ he said. He hadn’t meant to say it angrily, but the image of Mac’s bloodied, pain-twisted face as his life ebbed away put a harsh edge to his voice.

Macy pulled away. ‘I’m not lying! I know what I saw.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I wasn’t saying that you were lying . . . ’ He tailed off.

Mac. Kit. Macy. Three different accounts of the same events. But two of them contradicted each other. He had assumed that Macy’s was the odd one out.

What if it wasn’t?

To him, Mac’s version was the inviolable truth. What about the others?

Macy first. She saw the helicopter take off and leave the cavern, then encountered Kit, who told her he was looking for Mac. The next time she saw him, he had been shot – and so had Mac.

Now Kit. He was with Mac when Pachac and his men attacked, shooting the Indian in the arm – and the Scot in the back.

But Mac had been shot before the gunship took off.

The idea that someone might have lied about events simply hadn’t occurred to him until Macy put it into his mind. Why would anyone lie? It made no sense.

But nor did the contradiction. And Pachac had denied killing Mac. He’d had every reason to, considering his situation at the time . . . but his confusion at the accusation had been genuine.

And the revolutionary leader and his men had already escaped the cave and reached their vehicles by the time Eddie started in pursuit – but the gap between his hearing the gunshots and finding Mac had been maybe thirty seconds. Even taking into account the time he spent with the Scot as he spoke his last words, Pachac couldn’t have got so far ahead so quickly. Which meant he had to have left earlier.

Which meant he couldn’t have killed Mac.

Eddie felt a cold tightness close around his chest. If Pachac hadn’t killed Mac . . . that left only one other possibility.

Kit.

Mac had been shot in the back. And Kit had been behind him. Shot in the arm . . . the left arm. Kit was right-handed. And the injury was only a flesh wound, a single shot. Mac had taken two fatal bullets.

Ten bullets left in the Steyr he had taken from Kit, out of fifteen. Five used; one for the flesh wound, two fired off as decoys . . . and the first two, before Kit encountered Macy, used to kill Mac.

It couldn’t be true, though. Why? What reason could he have?

His thoughts went wider . . . and came up with more questions. Kit had been pulled out of the group by Stikes, not once, but twice – with a very feeble excuse the second time. And Stikes himself had initially wondered why Kit was on the mission at all.

Why was the head of Interpol’s Cultural Property Crime Unit personally accompanying an archaeological expedition? His interest had been . . .

The statues.

It was Kit who had suggested – no, pushed a link between Nina’s discovery at Glastonbury and South America, responding immediately to the IHA’s report. Kit who had proposed a joint Interpol/IHA mission. Kit who had been determined to accompany the explorers to El Dorado even though the smuggling case was closed. Kit whose first concern when an apparent earthquake shook the cave was the statues.

And Kit who had gone to follow a lead on the location of those same statues.

Which had been stolen by Alexander Stikes.

‘The statues . . .’ Eddie jerked upright as realisation struck him. ‘The fucking statues!’

‘What?’ Macy asked, startled. ‘What is it?’

He ignored her, the answer burning in his mind. It was the only possible explanation for what had happened at El Dorado.

Kit and Stikes were working together.

Stikes had already announced that he was going to take the Interpol agent with him, giving weak reasons that not even Pachac believed, when Nina flooded the cave. Then, as Stikes tried to escape in the Hind, Mac had been about to destroy the gunship – until Kit shot him in the back. To save Stikes and the statues.

And now . . . they were about to meet again.

Eddie stood and ran from the room, the bewildered Macy following him. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Hey, housekeeping! Miss Maid, are you there?’

The maid nervously emerged from a side room. ‘Yes?’

‘Look, I’m sorry I shouted at you. And don’t worry about the chair, I’ll clean it up later. I just need to ask you something. Do you know where . . .’ He struggled to recall Kit’s half-heard telephone conversation. ‘San Barn, Bart . . . San Bartolo. Do you know where San Bartolo is?’

She nodded, still timorous. ‘It is a town on the sea. About thirty, thirty-five kilometres south of the city.’

‘Does it have a railway station?’

‘No.’

‘Okay, so do you know what station fourteen is? What kind of station is it?’

‘Station? I don’t know, it . . . ’ She thought, then her face lit up. ‘No, I know. A gas station.’

‘Gas station? What, selling petrol?’

‘No, no. The gas, the . . .’ She made a hissing sound. ‘The gas, in the pipes! To cook with.’

‘A gas pipeline?’

‘Yes, yes! My brother, he work on the pipeline. It comes all the way from the jungle to Lima. There are stations on it, they pump the gas.’

‘Get me a taxi,’ he ordered. ‘And make sure it’s someone who’s willing to break the speed limit.’ The maid scurried away.

‘Eddie, what’s going on?’ Macy asked.

His expression was now utterly cold, determined – just as it had been when he went after Pachac. ‘I’m going to look for Kit. If I find what I think I’m going to . . .’ He didn’t need to complete the sentence for Macy to be fully aware that it was a threat.

‘I’m coming with you.’

He fixed her with a look so chilling that she felt genuine fear. His voice made it clear that he would not accept – or even tolerate – any argument. ‘No. You’re not. Stay here.’

Eddie turned away, leaving an unnaturally quiet Macy with the frightening feeling that she had just seen the face his enemies saw – before he killed them.

40

Station fourteen of the natural gas pipeline that ran along the Pacific coast towards Lima squatted behind a high chain-link fence, a cluster of dull grey metal tanks and rumbling pumps. It was a lonely outpost, a few kilometres beyond San Bartolo in the crumpled foothills of the Andes, and the sense of isolation was increased by its being completely automated. The status of the pumps was monitored from Lima, only closed-circuit television cameras watching over the remote compound.

The cameras were just one of Kit’s concerns as he turned off the Panamerica Highway and drove his car, a loaner provided by Interpol, down the access road. If he were caught on video, it might raise questions he would rather not answer. But then he noticed that the chain securing the gate had been cut – and that the gate was in plain view of a camera. Presumably Stikes had sabotaged or hacked the CCTV in some way.

All the same, he kept his head down to conceal his face as he left the car. This close, he could hear not only the thrum of machinery, but a continual low rushing sound – the noise of hundreds of cubic metres of gas flowing through the great stainless steel pipeline every second. He looked through the chain-link for any sign of Stikes. The tallest tanks were at the northern end, a catwalk running round them above numerous pipes and valves. The walkway continued above the main pipeline to what he guessed was a control station. The whole facility was bordered to its east by a low escarpment, and a flight of metal steps led up it from the controls. He now realised why Stikes had chosen this particular place to meet: the plateau served as a helicopter landing pad.

The empty pad wasn’t for the mercenary’s Hind, though. It was for the person the Interpol officer would soon be summoning . . . if Stikes lived up to his end of the deal.

Where was he? Kit surveyed the pumping station. Since it was automated, there were only a few lights, and they were more for the benefit of the surveillance cameras than visitors. Reflections glinted off pipes, picking out a steel maze amongst the shadows . . .

Stikes came into view, climbing a ladder up to the central catwalk. He gestured impatiently for Kit to approach. With a wary glance at the nearest camera, Kit opened the gate and crossed the dusty ground to the machinery. He ascended a ladder, feeling the pulse of the pumps through the metal.

Stikes waited for him, dressed in dark military fatigues, beret on his head. The Jericho gleamed in its holster. At his feet was the case he had taken from El Dorado. ‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘I had to organise a car,’ Kit explained.

Stikes regarded the Indian’s vehicle. ‘Did you come alone?’

‘Yes, of course. Are you alone?’

‘Of course not.’ The Englishman smiled coldly. ‘Two of my men are covering you with rifles. See if you can spot them.’

Kit turned nervously, eyes darting across the pipework. So many hiding places . . . but a sniper would need to be in an elevated position to avoid having his aim blocked by the steelwork. He raised his gaze, finally seeing one of the men: a ladder led up one of the smaller gas tanks to a narrow platform on top of it. A dark shape was barely visible against the clear night sky, the station’s lights reflecting faintly off a rifle barrel.

‘One on the tank,’ he said, continuing his search, ‘and . . . ’ He was forced to admit defeat. ‘I can’t see the other.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ said Stikes. ‘Gurov’s outside the fence.’ His gaze briefly flicked towards the escarpment.

‘So are they going to shoot me?’

‘Only if you don’t give me what I want. So.’ Stikes straightened, putting his hands on his hips. ‘Am I going to be introduced to the Group?’

‘Have you brought the statues?’

Stikes nudged the box forward. Kit crouched and opened it. The three statues were inside; two intact, one split in half, but both the pieces present. He picked one up, feeling the weight of the stone, the texture of the ancient carving. They were genuine.

Finally reunited.

‘Well?’ Stikes demanded. ‘Satisfied?’

‘Yes,’ said Kit, standing.

‘Good.’ He produced a satellite phone. ‘Make the call. I’m sure you remember the number.’

The meeting with the president of Peru had been relatively brief and, to Nina’s mind, entirely unnecessary, accomplishing nothing that couldn’t have waited until the following day. Though ostensibly to congratulate her on discovering El Dorado, it was actually a far more political affair, the country’s leader firmly planting the flag of Peru on the lost city and the incredible wealth it contained, while simultaneously making it clear that the IHA’s role would be downplayed as much as he could get away with. Zender and the Peruvian archaeologists had already been elevated to the status of national heroes, brave explorers who had sacrificed their lives to bring the incredible find to the world.

Nina was too tired to raise more than a token objection, but in truth was neither surprised nor particularly bothered by the land-grab. She had experienced similar attempts by governments to claim credit for her discoveries – the Algerians for the Tomb of Hercules, the Egyptians for the Pyramid of Osiris – but so long as she could put her own account out via the UN, the countries involved could spin events however they liked. Ultimately, what mattered was not who had found a treasure thought lost to time, but that it had been found at all.

A government car brought her back to the villa, where she met Osterhagen as he descended the stairs. The German looked utterly exhausted, apparently having slept from the moment he was shown to his room. He was still in the same crumpled, torn clothes, too weary even to undress before collapsing on the bed. ‘Nina,’ he yawned. ‘Where have you been?’

She gave him a precis of the meeting. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said with faint amusement, ‘I have experienced the same thing. An occupational hazard.’

‘Ain’t it just.’ Macy hurried into the lobby, looking anxious. ‘Hey, Macy. What’s up?’

‘It’s about Eddie.’ With an apologetic smile to Osterhagen, Macy hastily guided her away from the German archaeologist, who shrugged and went in search of the kitchen. ‘I’m worried about him.’

‘Me too. I think it’ll take a while before he can deal with everything that’s happened today.’

‘No, no, that’s the thing – the day’s not over. He’s gone!’

‘What? Gone where?’

‘Some place called San Bartolo. We were talking, and he suddenly went all weird, and started asking one of the staff how to get there.’

‘Weird how?’

‘I mean, he was pissed. But scary-pissed. Like he was so angry that it wasn’t showing on the outside, you know?’

Nina did know; she had seen that kind of cold fury before, not least earlier that day, and it never boded well. ‘Why was he angry? What were you talking about?’

‘About what happened at El Dorado – something to do with Kit. I told him what I was doing just before Mr McCrimmon got shot, and he got mad and kept saying I was remembering it wrong. Then he went quiet, like he was working something out, and then he found the maid and wanted to know how to get to San Bartolo.’ She thought for a moment. ‘No, not San Bartolo; somewhere near it, a pumping station on some gas pipeline. Station fourteen.’

‘What’s it got to do with Kit?’

‘I don’t know. But it seemed like he was comparing what I told him with what Kit told him, and then he said something about the statues – and that’s when he got angry. He took a cab.’

The statues. Nina made the connection. ‘Oh God.’

Eddie had somehow realised what Kit had been trying to keep from him: that Interpol was making a deal with Stikes to recover the statues. But Eddie would only be interested in revenge – for her torture, for Mac’s death. And he would be going after Stikes.

And if his anger was because he believed Kit had betrayed him by dealing with the mercenary – or worse, that he was somehow in league with him . . .

‘When did he leave?’ she asked Macy urgently.

‘I don’t know – a half-hour ago? What is it?’

‘I think Eddie’s about to do something he’ll regret. How do we get to this pumping station?’

‘That is it,’ said the taxi driver, pointing.

Eddie saw a handful of lights in the darkness off the Panamerica Highway. Gas tanks and pipes behind a fence, a small cliff beyond the facility. A car was parked outside the gate.

Except for the burning coal of his fury, his mind was completely analytical, assessing the scene from a tactical perspective. The car had to be Kit’s, and if he was there, Stikes would be too. But it was unlikely he would have come alone. So where would the other mercenaries be?

Elevated positions, where they could both cover their boss and watch the road. On top of the tanks, on the cliff. No way to know how many – but Stikes’s forces had been winnowed down at El Dorado, and it was unlikely he would have been able to drum up more at such short notice. He had left the cavern with only the Hind’s pilot and one other man . . .

The driver started to slow for the turning on to the dirt road. ‘No, keep going,’ Eddie told him. He looked down the highway, seeing taillights disappear round a curve in the distance. ‘Stop once we get round the next corner.’

He turned his attention to the rugged landscape. Scrubby bushes, small trees. Adequate cover. It would take him ten to fifteen minutes to make a stealthy crossing.

The taxi passed the pumping station. Eddie looked back, seeing movement. Two figures on an elevated walkway. Even at this distance, he recognised them both.

Stikes. And Kit.

His fears had been confirmed. They were working together.

The coal inside him burned hotter.

Stikes’s satellite phone warbled. The mercenary answered it, then gave Kit a crooked smile. ‘It’s for you.’

Kit took the phone, listened to the brief message, then disconnected. ‘The helicopter is on its way,’ he reported. ‘It should be here in about twenty minutes.’

Stikes checked his watch, then nodded. He noticed Kit looking towards the gate. ‘Something wrong?’

‘The security cameras. It could be hard for me to explain to Interpol what was going on if this is recorded – and the Group’s representative certainly won’t want to be seen.’

Stikes tutted. ‘Do you think I’m an amateur? The camera at the gate is sending a looped recording – and as long as we stay away from the pumps,’ he gestured at the machinery behind Kit, ‘none of the others can see us. I don’t particularly want to appear on Candid Camera either.’

‘I suppose not.’ He turned his gaze back to the gate and the road beyond, seeing a lone car pass out of sight round a bend.

‘You want me to wait?’ asked the taxi driver.

‘No, that’s fine,’ said Eddie, paying him and providing a generous tip before getting out. The driver shrugged, then drove away.

Eddie started uphill through the undergrowth towards the escarpment.

With no time to go through the rigmarole of obtaining a car through government or United Nations channels, Nina and Macy had followed Eddie’s example and got the maid to summon a taxi. It was now heading through Lima’s southern outskirts for the Panamerica Highway. ‘How long before we get to this station?’ Nina asked.

Macy put the question to the driver in Spanish. ‘About twenty-five minutes,’ she said after getting an answer. ‘And yes, I already told him that we’re in a rush.’

Nina tapped her foot in impatience – and worry. Would they get there in time to stop Eddie making a mistake?

Kit broke off from pacing the catwalk to check his watch. Over twenty minutes had passed since the phone call, and there was still no sign of a helicopter. The Group’s representative might simply be being cautious . . . but might also have decided that the risk was too great and abandoned the meeting.

And their operative. The thought twisted his stomach into a knot. He glanced at the gas tank. Stikes’s sniper was still lying on the platform. The Interpol officer had no doubts whatsoever that Stikes would kill him the moment he felt things had gone wrong . . .

A new sound over the unceasing rumble of the gas pumps. Rotor blades. The helicopter.

Unable to conceal a sigh of relief, he looked for the noise’s source, seeing strobe lights in the sky to the west.

Eddie also heard the incoming chopper, and froze behind one of the tanks. Stikes and Kit showed no signs of surprise or alarm, so they were expecting it. Who was aboard?

For now, that was irrelevant. What mattered was that it gave him a deadline: it was no more than two minutes away from touching down. He had to be finished before it arrived.

He set off again, moving through the pumping station’s shadows until he reached the ladder up one of the tanks. From here, the sound of the pumps was a steady, churning rumble, backed by the low-frequency hiss of gas rushing through the main pipeline. It would mask the sound of his climb – and better yet, he realised as he took hold of the ladder, there was a vibration running through the framework that would camouflage his steps.

He began to climb. The tank was about thirty feet high. As he approached its top he slowed, cautiously peering on to the platform.

A man dressed in black lay upon it, back to him.

One of Stikes’s men, armed with a SCAR rifle with a telescopic sight. He wasn’t looking through the scope, though; he was watching the approaching helicopter.

Eddie waited, poised at the top of the ladder. If he climbed any higher, the man might catch him in his peripheral vision and raise the alarm. The chopper was now only a minute out. Look away, dammit!

After another agonising few seconds, the man finally moved his eye back to the sight. Eddie carefully climbed the last few rungs to crouch on the platform just behind the sniper . . .

Then he lunged, grabbing the mercenary’s head and yanking it back as hard as he could, wrapping an arm tightly round his throat.

The sniper made a choked gurgling sound, dropping the SCAR and trying to claw at his attacker’s face. Eddie squeezed harder, twisting sharply – and a crunch of crushed cartilage came from the sniper’s neck, followed by the muffled snap of bone. The man went limp.

Eddie dropped him and caught the SCAR by its strap just before it tipped over the platform’s edge. He lay beside the dead man, recognising him as Voeker, and quickly and expertly checked the gun. A full load of thirty 5.56mm rounds, and the scope was a high-quality night vision unit, a sharp red chevron superimposed over the centre of the shimmering green image.

He lined up the chevron’s point on Stikes’s head. The mercenary leader was completely unaware of him, a sitting duck. All he had to do was pull the trigger . . .

It wasn’t mercy that stopped his finger from tightening – he had already decided that Stikes was going to die. Instead, it was the urge to find out what was going on, to catch everybody involved. The helicopter swung overhead, kicking up dust as it settled on the pad. Stikes picked up the case, and the two men on the catwalk headed for the metal stairs.

Eddie moved the sight to the helicopter. A young, beefy blond man in a dark suit climbed out. Was this the contact? No - he hurried round to the aircraft’s far side to open the door for another passenger.

At first, all he could see beneath the fuselage was a pair of black stiletto-heeled boots. Then the new arrival strode into view.

He was so shocked that he almost dropped the rifle.

The person meeting Stikes was someone he knew. Someone he thought was dead.

His ex-wife. Sophia.

41

‘I know you,’ said Stikes with a suspicious frown as Sophia Blackwood descended the steps, her long black coat billowing in the idling helicopter’s rotor wash. ‘You were Chase’s wife.’

‘I know you too,’ said Kit, alarmed. ‘You tried to set off a nuclear bomb in New York!’

Stikes’s frown deepened. ‘You’re also, if I remember correctly, supposed to be dead.’

Sophia smiled, coming fully into the light at the foot of the stairs – revealing that her beautiful face was marred by a deep, crooked scar that ran from an inch behind her left eye down her cheek and on to her neck, disappearing beneath a black scarf. The rest of her outfit was also black, including a pair of expensive leather gloves. ‘Gentlemen, I’m all those things, and more,’ she said. ‘But right now, I’m the person you wanted to meet’ – she turned away from Stikes and looked at Kit – ‘and, like it or not, your superior. So shall we get to business?’

‘As you wish, Lady Blackwood,’ said Stikes. There was a faint tinge of mockery to the word; the British government had stripped Sophia of her title following her failed attack on the United States. She gave him a cold look. ‘I assume Jindal told you what I want in exchange for these.’ He held up the case.

‘I know what you want,’ said Sophia. ‘However, the people I represent are more curious about why.’

‘It’s simple, really. When I first met Jindal in Venezuela, I knew something wasn’t right. Interpol division heads don’t go out and do fieldwork – and they certainly don’t do fieldwork that’s only tangentially related to their job. He gave me some cock-and-bull story about the archaeological expedition being connected to a smuggling investigation, but he obviously had some other motive for being there. So I had a little chat with him, and learned about your organisation. The Group.’

If Sophia’s look at Stikes had been cold, the one she directed at Kit was positively icy. ‘Funny. He somehow forgot to mention that.’

‘I was tortured!’ Kit protested. ‘If I hadn’t said anything, he would have killed me. And I didn’t tell him why the Group need the statues. How could I? I haven’t been told myself.’

‘You told him more than enough, apparently.’ She turned back to Stikes. ‘So, you have some idea of the Group’s objectives. What do you want from them? Your wanted status with international law enforcement to disappear, perhaps? Or is it just about money?’

‘Only indirectly,’ said the Englishman. ‘I’m actually offering them my services.’

Sophia arched a perfect eyebrow. ‘Are you now?’

‘Yes. I have the experience, the connections and, frankly, the ruthlessness to be a great asset. From what Jindal told me, what they’re planning will genuinely change the world. I want to make sure I’m on the side that benefits when it happens.’

‘Everyone will benefit. Or so they say.’ There was a glint in her eye that suggested she had a different opinion.

‘They will,’ insisted Kit. ‘I wouldn’t be a part of this if I didn’t believe it would help the world.’

Stikes rattled the case. ‘But they need these first, don’t they?’

Sophia glanced back at the blond man watching from the top of the steps. ‘There was a suggestion – not mine, I’ll point out – that we should take them from you by force.’

Stikes gave her a lupine smile. ‘That would be a bad idea.’

‘I know. We used a thermal scanner to see who else was here before landing. Mikkel is very good, but I doubt even he could pick off all three of your men before they killed us.’

‘He’d be lucky to draw his—’ Stikes broke off abruptly. ‘Three men?’

Sophia responded in kind to his sudden concern. ‘What is it?’

‘I only have two men.’

‘Then who’s the third?’

‘Ay up,’ said a Yorkshire voice.

The trio whirled to see Eddie climb on to the catwalk, carrying a SCAR. Mikkel’s hand flashed into his jacket to draw a gun – but Eddie had already whipped the rifle up and fired. The blond man collapsed, two bullet wounds in his chest.

The SCAR came back to the three people on the walkway. ‘So,’ said Eddie, advancing, ‘interesting little meeting. My ex-comrade, my ex-wife, and,’ a searing glare at Kit, ‘my ex-friend.’

‘Eddie, this isn’t what you think,’ said Kit, raising his hands. ‘Interpol authorised me to make a deal with Stikes for—’

‘Shut up!’ Eddie roared. Kit flinched. ‘Don’t give me any more of your fucking lies and bullshit. You’ve been working with him the whole time to get those fucking statues – and you killed Mac for them!’

Silence, Kit frozen with an expression of shocked guilt. Stikes finally broke it. ‘McCrimmon’s dead? What a shame.’

Eddie’s mouth tightened with anger. He snapped up the rifle and fired. Stikes’s beret flew off and disappeared into the darkness. The mercenary staggered, dropping the case and clutching his head as blood ran down his face.

‘You missed?’ said Sophia, affecting casualness as she recovered from the shock of the gunshot. ‘Not like you, Eddie.’

‘I don’t miss what I’m aiming at from this range,’ he growled.

Stikes felt the wound. The bullet had carved a deep gash in his scalp, red spreading through his fair hair like ink on tissue paper. ‘That was a mistake, Chase. If you want to kill me, you should have done it then. You’ll never get another chance.’

He stared at the other former SAS man, anticipation growing as he waited for the crack of a distant rifle, an explosion of blood and bone . . .

His expectancy faded. Nothing happened.

‘Oh, were you waiting for one of your sniper mates to shoot me?’ asked Eddie sarcastically. He held up the SCAR. ‘Got this off the bloke on top of the tank. And I killed the guy on the cliffs over there before I got here. You’re getting sloppy, Stikes, putting your men in the most obvious positions.’ A gesture with the rifle. ‘Okay. Weapons. Chuck ’em.’

Stikes reluctantly pulled the Jericho from his holster and tossed it past Eddie, where it hit the machinery below the catwalk with a dull clank. Eddie moved the gun on to Kit. ‘I’m unarmed,’ he said.

Eddie nodded; the Indian wouldn’t have had the opportunity to acquire a new weapon. The SCAR lined up on Sophia. ‘So am I,’ she said.

Her ex-husband gave her an irritated look. Sophia sighed and reached into her coat, drawing out a matt-black Glock 36 compact pistol, which she dropped over the edge of the walkway. There was something odd about her left hand, Eddie noticed; some of her fingers seemed unnaturally stiff inside the leather glove. And looking more closely, besides the scar, there was something different about her face: her cheekbones looked sharper, the line of her nose more curved. Had she had plastic surgery?

‘So, what are you going to do now, Eddie?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to kill us?’

‘Him?’ said Eddie, nodding towards Stikes. ‘Yeah. For what he did to Nina. You, I haven’t decided yet. Since I already thought you’d died twice, might have to make it third time lucky – but I wouldn’t mind seeing you back in prison either.’ He rounded on Kit. ‘As for you, though . . . Isshould kill you. But first, I want to know why. Why did you do it – why shoot Mac? Why?’

Despite the cold wind blowing down from the hills, Kit was sweating. ‘I didn’t want to do it, Eddie, you have to believe me. But he didn’t give me any choice. He was going to destroy the helicopter – and the statues.’ His eyes flickered towards the fallen case.

‘The statues,’ Eddie echoed quietly – before suddenly erupting. ‘Those fucking statues! Am I the only one who doesn’t put all this stupid archaeological shit above people’s lives? What’s so important about the fucking things?’ He aimed the rifle at the case. ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow them to fucking pieces right now.’

He noticed Sophia tense – she had a reason, at least. But Kit spoke first, taking a step closer with his hands spread, almost pleading. ‘I . . . I can’t tell you, Eddie. I wish I could. But it’ll change the world. We have to have the statues. For . . . for the sake of all humanity.’

Eddie regarded him for a moment . . . then his eyes narrowed. ‘Not good enough.’ His finger tensed on the trigger—

Bright lights washed over him.

He looked round. Another car was pulling up beside Kit’s—

The instant of distraction gave the Indian an opening. Kit leapt at him, one hand grabbing the SCAR and shoving it away from the case. Eddie fired, a burst of bullets twanging off the pipework below. Stikes jumped away from the line of fire, Sophia hurriedly taking cover behind him.

With both hands on the rifle, Eddie couldn’t defend against a punch that jarred his vision. He and Kit grappled for control of the SCAR, lurching back along the catwalk. The gun’s ejection port was facing the Interpol officer; Eddie pulled the trigger again, more rounds ripping into the pumping machinery - and showering Kit’s face and neck with searing cartridge casings.

Kit shrieked and jerked back, still trying to wrest away the SCAR. Another burst of fire, but this time the spent brass sprayed over his shoulder as he forced the gun upwards. Eddie kicked at his legs, trying to trip him—

A shrill screech came from a pipe below, followed by an earth-shaking thud and a thunderous roar of flame.

The bullets had damaged one of the pumps, gas escaping through a cracked valve . . . and igniting as more red-hot rounds flashed through it.

Nina and Macy exited the taxi – and jumped in shock as an explosion rattled the vehicle, a fireball boiling skywards from the pumping station. Beneath it, a forty-foot-long line of fire blasted out almost horizontally from the machinery, the force of the flame seething against a complex knot of pipes.

Stikes and Sophia recoiled from the heat. The two fighting men were almost directly over the burning gas jet – which was acting like a blowtorch, slicing into the neighbouring pump’s pipework.

‘Time to leave, I think,’ said Sophia. She reached for the case – but Stikes was quicker. The former soldier snatched it up and opened it, moving as if to tip its contents over the guardrail.

‘Do we have a deal?’ he demanded. ‘Because if not, I’m going to throw these things into the fire and get the hell out of here before this whole place goes up!’

Sophia gave him a sour look, then nodded. ‘We have a deal.’

‘Excellent. Then I’d appreciate a lift!’ He looked at the helicopter, which was already rising from an idle to takeoff revolutions as its pilot realised the danger.

‘Well, it does seem that I have a spare seat.’ She hurried up the steps with Stikes behind her, passing Mikkel’s body without a second glance.

Racing through the open gate, Nina saw someone jump into the helicopter. A man, blond hair standing out in the firelight: Stikes? The brief glimpse wasn’t enough for her to be sure.

Macy, behind her, looked fearfully around the compound. ‘Do you see Eddie or Kit?’

Dismay filled Nina’s voice. ‘Oh, yeah. I see them.’

‘Where?’

She pointed above the flame as she ran faster. ‘Take a guess!’

The detonation had knocked both Eddie and Kit down – with the Indian landing on top. He threw another punch at Eddie’s face, knocking the Yorkshireman’s head back against the walkway’s grillework floor. Eddie’s grip slackened, and Kit managed to prise one of his hands off the SCAR. He struck at the Englishman’s face again, bloodying his mouth, then rolled back on to his haunches, pulling the gun with him.

He turned the bulky weapon round, pointing it at the man who had been his friend—

The conflict in his mind made him hesitate, just for a split second. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to – Eddie had deduced the truth of what happened to Mac, had seen him with Stikes and Sophia Blackwood. It was the only way to maintain his cover at Interpol and prevent anyone else from learning of his involvement with the Group.

The only way, he told himself. Finger on the trigger—

One of Eddie’s legs lashed upwards, striking the rifle just as it fired. Two shots exploded from the barrel, whipping just above his head – then the SCAR clicked impotently, its magazine empty.

Eddie didn’t hear it; the gunshots, practically in his face, had left him deafened and half blind from the flash of the muzzle flame. But he could still see well enough to slam his other foot hard against Kit’s chest. Kit fell backwards, head smacking against the guardrail.

Spitting out blood, Eddie kicked the other man again before using the railing to pull himself to his feet. The heat from the flame jet was like standing at an open oven.

He looked along the catwalk. Stikes and Sophia were gone - as was the case containing the statues. The chopper was at full power, about to take off. No way he could stop them from escaping.

That left Kit.

Even as part of his mind protested at leaving Mac’s killer unpunished, Eddie knew he would have to bring Kit in alive. He was the only link to whatever the hell was going on, the only way to learn the truth behind the Scot’s murder. He grabbed Kit by his black hair and slammed his head against the railing again, then hauled him upright—

A sudden noise, loud enough to break through even his addled hearing. Straining metal, something giving way under immense heat and pressure . . .

Nina was almost at a ladder up to the catwalk, Macy a few yards behind, when a very threatening sound made her stop abruptly. ‘Get back!’ she shouted, turning and diving to the ground—

The damaged pump exploded.

Shattered sections of pipe were thrown hundreds of feet into the air as a pillar of fire blasted skywards like an erupting volcano. The entire facility shook, the noise of burning gas a jet-engine roar as it sucked in air to feed the conflagration. The explosion was powerful enough even to jolt the helicopter as it took to the sky and wheeled away.

Eddie’s slowly recovering hearing had been obliterated again – but that was the least of his worries. The new geyser of flame was forty feet away, but he didn’t need to touch it to be burned. The combined heat from it and the ruptured pipe below was horrific. He could feel his exposed skin stinging, his hair scorching.

But worse was to come. The walkway juddered, joints snapping—

The world suddenly rolled around him, a whole section of catwalk giving way like a giant hinge. He fell, hitting the guardrail – which broke. Nothing below but the blazing gas—

He jerked to a painful stop as one of the severed rail’s stanchions speared through his flapping leather jacket, almost wrenching his shoulder from its socket. Six inches to the side, and it would have gone through his chest. Eddie hung helplessly, dangling only feet above the line of flame . . . then with an agonising effort managed to twist and claw the fingers of his right hand into the grated floor.

The catwalk was tilted at a seventy-degree angle. Eddie pulled himself higher, shrugging his left arm out of his ruined jacket and finding a secure hold with that hand before tugging the other sleeve inside out to free himself. Something dropped from one of the pockets.

His father’s business card, still in its evidence bag. It landed in the fire and was instantly incinerated.

He would go the same way if he didn’t move fast. The grillwork cutting into his fingers, he hauled himself up until he could stand on the support, and looked round. An intact section of the walkway was six feet away in one direction; in the other . . .

Kit hung from the catwalk’s edge, his feet closer to the flame jet than Eddie’s had been. He struggled to climb, but couldn’t get a firm enough grip.

His panicked eyes met Eddie’s.

The Englishman hesitated, looking across to the nearby catwalk, and safety . . . then he stepped across to the next stanchion to reach Kit.

Ears ringing, Nina sat up to see a spear of fire at least a hundred feet high roaring into the dark sky. Smaller blazes were already spreading across the pumping station as debris fell all around like burning hailstones.

She heard a shriek, and whipped round to find Macy clutching her thigh where she had been struck by a piece of smouldering shrapnel. ‘Macy, get out of here!’ Nina shouted, waving towards the gate – where she saw the taxi rapidly making a skidding turn as the driver fled.

‘What about Eddie? And Kit?’

‘Just go!’ She stood, flinching as another chunk of pipe smacked down nearby, then started back towards the ladder.

To her horror, she saw that a section of catwalk had partially collapsed – and someone was hanging from it over a searing fire. Kit. A moment of sickening fear – where was Eddie ? – then she made out her husband through the broken walkway’s gridwork floor.

He was moving towards Kit. Was he going to rescue him, or. . .

She scurried up the ladder, recoiling from the heat at the top. A security camera watched her. The pipeline’s operators had to know by now that something was badly wrong, and be trying to stop the flow of gas.

Unless they couldn’t.

The fires were spreading, getting closer to the gas tanks. If one exploded, it would take the others with it, obliterating the entire area.

‘Eddie!’ she cried. But he didn’t hear. ‘Eddie!’

Kit finally got a firm hold on the grating. He dragged himself up, looking for anything that would assist his climb.

A small pipe to one side, connecting two larger conduits running from the pump. He shifted his weight towards it, finding a foothold – and something else.

Stikes’s gun was wedged between the two main pipes, just within reach.

Despite the danger, he was thinking one step beyond immediate self-preservation. He still had to protect his cover. Which meant he still had to deal with Eddie—

A foot on the stanchion. Eddie loomed over him.

Kit made his decision – and grabbed the gun.

Nina hurried along the catwalk, holding up her arms to shield her face from the almost unbearable heat. Her eyes stung - she rubbed them and blinked, seeing Eddie standing over Kit—

Eddie was about to reach down to Kit when he realised the Indian’s hand was already moving. Not towards him, but to something under the catwalk, nickel glinting on the steel pipes . . .

Stikes’s Jericho, now in Kit’s hand.

The Indian twisted his wrist, aiming the pistol upwards—

Eddie’s foot snapped out, catching Kit hard in the face. Blood sprayed from the Indian’s nose, shock causing him to lose his grip. He fell.

Into the fire.

For a fraction of a second, Eddie saw his expression in the inferno’s light, a mixture of pain and anger and terror – then he was gone, vaporised by the fury of the escaping flame. The Jericho dropped with him, vanishing into the fire.

He turned, starting back towards the intact section of catwalk - and saw Nina standing there, staring at him in utter disbelief.

Even in the searing heat, Nina somehow felt cold, as if her blood had been replaced by icy water. Her mind refused to accept what her eyes had just witnessed. It couldn’t have happened. It couldn’t!

But it had. Eddie had just climbed over to the helpless, flailing Kit . . . and kicked him to his death.

He came closer, the stanchions shuddering under his weight. ‘Give me a hand!’ he called as he reached the end of the broken section and tried to clamber up. She didn’t move. ‘Nina!’

She broke out of her freeze and pulled him up. ‘Oh God, what did you do? What did you do?’

‘We’ve got to go!’ he shouted, looking towards the spreading fires. ‘Run!’ He pushed her ahead as he raced along the walkway. The security camera looked on with its glazed eye.

Nina reached the ladder and hurried down it, jumping off halfway. Eddie followed. They ran for the gate, the roar of the fires now accompanied by the squeals and groans of warping metal. The gas tanks were giving way . . .

Through the gate. Macy sprinted for the highway ahead of them. The squeals turned to shrieks—

One of the gas tanks blew apart in a seething white ball of fire, the others following it in a chain reaction. A shockwave erupted outwards, whipping up a wall of dust and blowing Nina and Eddie off their feet. A roiling mushroom cloud rose into the night sky, a marker visible for miles around for the crater that had once been station fourteen.