King Solomon's Curse

Prologue

Eddie Chase entered the arrivals hall of Tenerife-Sur airport and greeted the man waiting for him with a mocking grin. ‘So you’ve been demoted to my chauffeur, Alderley?’

‘Actually, I’ve been promoted since we last met,’ replied Peter Alderley. ‘Avoiding you does wonders for my career.’

‘Bell-end,’ said Eddie, though with humour. The two Englishmen shook hands. Neither would have described the other as a friend, but the past dealings of the former SAS soldier and the MI6 officer had at least given them a grudging mutual respect. ‘Promoted, eh? Things must be going well.’

Alderley nodded. ‘I’m in charge of the Africa desk, reporting directly to C.’

‘And who does C report to? B?’ Eddie grinned again, knowing full well that ‘C’ — not ‘M’, despite the claims of the James Bond novels and movies — was the codename for the director of Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service.

The older man’s drooping moustache twitched with both amusement and faint exasperation. ‘Your sense of humour hasn’t changed. Sadly. But I understand other things have. You’re a dad now?’

Eddie beamed proudly. ‘Yeah. Me and Nina’ve got a little girl, Macy. She’s two.’ He showed off her picture on his phone’s lock screen.

‘She’s got Nina’s looks,’ said Alderley of the smiling young redhead. ‘Luckily for her.’

‘Yeah, sod off.’ His expression and tone became more businesslike. ‘But you didn’t ask me to come all the way from New York to see my baby pictures. You said this was about Mukobo.’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’ Alderley led the way to a car park. His anonymous Peugeot 308 was unpleasantly hot inside; the Canaries were off the coast of North Africa, and the sun was blazing relentlessly down on the dry landscape.

‘Not much of a spy car,’ said Eddie. ‘Still, it’s better than your rubbish old Ford Capri.’

Alderley huffed as he started the car. ‘My Capri is officially a classic.’

‘That just means ancient, though, doesn’t it?’

‘And this one’s rented. Budget cuts, across all the intelligence agencies. If it’s not related to Islamic terrorists, Russia or Brexit, its spending’s been slashed. Same for the armed forces,’ he added.

Eddie had a long-standing antipathy to the intelligence services, but anything that made the job of the soldier on the ground more difficult made him bristle. ‘Ugh. Politicians.’

‘Yeah, whoever you vote for, some bugger wins,’ said Alderley as he headed for the airport’s exit. ‘Anyway, we can talk now. All this is top secret, of course.’

‘You don’t need to tell me the rules. I signed the Official Secrets Act when I joined the forces.’

‘So you haven’t told Nina why you’re here?’

‘Nope, and she’s not happy about it. I just said you needed my help. She didn’t think that justified swanning off and leaving our little girl, and she’s probably right. But I came anyway.’ The Yorkshireman regarded Alderley intently. ‘Mukobo. I assume he’s here.’

Alderley nodded. ‘We wouldn’t have asked you to come otherwise.’

‘You need me to ID him?’

‘You’re the only person we know of who’s met him face to face. Who’s still alive, anyway. Philippe Mukobo has been, ah… proactive about maintaining his privacy. Hardly surprising when he’s high on Interpol’s Red List, to say nothing of the Yanks wanting to get their hands on him.’

‘For killing those aid workers.’ It was not a question but a grim statement of fact. ‘And a load of other people. I should’ve shot him when I had the chance.’

Alderley hesitated as if about to say something reassuring, but then continued with his briefing. ‘Anyway, GCHQ picked up chatter that he’d made it over here by sea. He’s since been in phone contact with a man called Provone who’s arranging a fake European Union passport for him. As the Canaries are Spanish territory, once he gets it he can travel freely from here to anywhere in Europe — even Britain, since we haven’t finished the Article 50 negotiations and left the EU yet.’

The Peugeot merged on to a motorway. ‘You know where he is right now?’ Eddie asked.

‘In a villa outside Playa de las Américas.’

‘So why haven’t you grabbed him already?’

‘As I said, we don’t know what he looks like. There are no known photos of him. And he has at least nine guards at the villa, all armed. We don’t want to risk a bloodbath. We want him alive.’

Eddie cocked an eyebrow. ‘Why? If it were up to me, I’d just shoot the sod and be done with it.’

‘Not my department, I’m afraid,’ said Alderley. ‘This is a field operation, so technically I’m only here to advise the officer in charge. Okay, technically I’m not here at all, but you know what I mean.’

‘So who’s the OIC?’

‘John Brice, one of our top field men.’

‘John Brice?’ Eddie echoed, scoffing. ‘What is it with spies having the initials JB? James Bond, Jason Bourne, Jack Bauer, and now this guy. Surprised you didn’t change your name to Jethro Bollocks or something.’

Alderley chuckled. ‘Not sure my wife would have wanted to become Mrs Bollocks. Anyway, he’s got surveillance photos of the men in the compound. If you can ID Mukobo, Brice can take it from there.’

‘You couldn’t have just emailed me the pictures?’

‘MI6 doesn’t generally send classified imagery via Gmail.’

‘Suppose not,’ said Eddie, amused. ‘All right, let’s get this over with.’

Alderley brought him to one of Playa de las Américas’ numerous hotels — and then to its bar. ‘Why aren’t I surprised to find a spy hanging out in here?’ said Eddie.

‘There he is — oh,’ said Alderley, with distinct disapproval on seeing that the man they had come to meet was seated in a corner with a tanned young woman in a bikini. Brice whispered to her, then stood to usher her away with a swat to her backside as the visitors approached. She headed for a swimming pool outside. ‘Who was that?’

‘Nobody,’ said Brice, shaking Alderley’s hand. ‘Peter.’ He faced Eddie, blue eyes looking the stocky, shaven-headed Yorkshireman up and down and not appearing particularly impressed. ‘And Eddie Chase.’

‘That’s me,’ said Eddie, giving Brice an assessment of his own. Late thirties, tall, sharply handsome, jet-black hair conservatively yet carefully styled. His clothing was similarly neat; overdone for the climate, but the athletic MI6 officer didn’t seem the kind to break a sweat for much. There was a glass of whisky before him.

‘John Brice.’ He briefly shook Eddie’s hand, then sat again. ‘I assume Peter’s told you why you’re here.’

‘Yeah, Mukobo,’ said Eddie. ‘You need me to ID him for you.’

‘That’s right.’ Brice opened a slim laptop. ‘Our pictures of the men in the villa are here.’ A few clicks, then he slid the machine to Eddie. ‘Oh, screen facing the wall, if you don’t mind. Wouldn’t want anyone looking over your shoulder.’

‘Your girlfriend have clearance, did she?’ said Eddie, irked by the younger man’s patronising tone. He sat with a wall behind him, then regarded the screen. The image, taken with a telephoto lens, was of a scowling black man in mirrored sunglasses. ‘That’s not him. Too young.’

‘Swipe through to the next one,’ said Alderley. Eddie did so. The next man was older, but also unfamiliar.

‘By the way, I read your file, Chase,’ said Brice. ‘Interesting career you’ve had.’

‘Yeah?’ Eddie replied, bringing up the next image.

‘Yes. Edward Jeremy Chase, born 1975. Joined the army at sixteen the day after finishing your GCSEs, so the earliest possible time allowed by law. Problems at home?’

‘None of your business,’ was the irritated reply.

‘Served competently but unremarkably,’ Brice went on, unfazed, ‘as a squaddie for six years with a promotion to corporal, then applied to join the Special Air Service. On your first selection attempt, passed the endurance, jungle training and escape and evasion phases, but failed on tactical questioning and returned to unit.’

Alderley was surprised. ‘You didn’t pass first time?’

‘“Tactical questioning” is basically being tortured,’ said Eddie. ‘Whatever they do, you’re only supposed to give ’em your name, rank and serial number, or say “I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that question.”’

‘So what did you say?’

‘One of the interrogators started on about how he’d shagged my mum. So I told him I’d shagged his girlfriend. Which… I had.’ He grinned, exposing the gap between his front teeth. ‘He got pretty annoyed with me.’

‘I can imagine!’

Brice exhaled impatiently. ‘Reapplied the following year, this time succeeded. Joined 22 SAS “A” Squadron, promoted to sergeant in 2000, court-martialled and demoted back to corporal following an incident in Afghanistan when you struck a superior officer. Redeemed yourself in 2002 when you were awarded the Victoria Cross’ — a hint of disbelief, as if unable to accept that the man before him could have received the British military’s highest honour — ‘for rescuing your wounded commanding officer while under fire. Married Lady Sophia Blackwood in 2004 after saving her from terrorists in Cambodia, left service in 2005, divorced in 2006.’

Eddie looked up from the laptop. ‘You got all this fu—… flippin’ memorised?’ He caught himself before saying something stronger; he had promised his wife — and himself — when Macy was born that he would stop his habitual swearing for his daughter’s sake. ‘Thought you were a spy, not presenting This Is Your Life.’

‘I like to know as much as possible about the people I deal with.’ He indicated the laptop. ‘Have you seen Mukobo yet?’

‘Nope.’

‘Then keep looking.’ Eddie frowned, then turned back to the screen. ‘After that, you worked as a mercenary in numerous countries. Including Rwanda, where you encountered Mukobo… and let him go.’

The Yorkshireman’s gaze returned to Brice. ‘Got something to say?’

He shrugged. ‘Merely an observation.’

The dismissive response annoyed Eddie still more. ‘Our convoy ran into him by fluke — he wasn’t expecting trouble, or he’d have had more than one bodyguard. He was outgunned, and surrendered. I wasn’t going to shoot a prisoner, so we took their weapons and told ’em to piss off. I didn’t know he was a warlord who’d been killing and raping people in four different countries. If I had…’

‘You would have done something about it?’

‘Turned him in, at the very least.’ A shake of the head. ‘But I didn’t, so now we’re here. None of these guys are him, by the way.’

‘Damn,’ said Brice quietly. He retrieved the computer. ‘Then I’ll need you to come to our observation post and see if you can identify him from there.’

‘I was planning to be on a flight back home tonight.’

‘As soon as you ID him, you can go.’ Brice finished his whisky in a single slug. ‘All right, let’s move.’

Playa de las Américas was a relatively new resort, still expanding into the surrounding arid hills. The unfinished shells of apartment blocks and ranks of tightly packed little houses rose up the slopes like a concrete cancer, aesthetics and interior space secondary to giving as many future buyers as possible a view of the sea, however distant, from their place in the sun.

The trio’s destination was beyond the sprawl, however. The hilltops had already been claimed for the rich, expansive villas imperiously overlooking all below. ‘That’s the target,’ said Brice as Alderley guided the Peugeot up a dusty road.

The red-roofed villa was about half a mile away. What Eddie could see of it over its high surrounding walls was impressive. ‘Nice place. Where’s the observation post?’

‘That ridge,’ Brice told him, pointing. Another dusty hill rose ahead.

Before long, Alderley turned on to a dirt track, the 308 jolting uphill behind the ridge. Eddie looked up to its top, spotting a man lying beneath a camouflaged sunshade — then tensed as a sixth sense developed from training and experience told him the watcher was not alone. ‘Who else is up here?’

‘Three-man snatch team from the Increment,’ said Alderley as he stopped behind a dusty Land Rover Discovery. ‘Well, a sub-unit, GB63.’ He pronounced it six-three. ‘We call them the Removal Men. Because, ha ha, they remove—’

‘Yeah, I get it.’ The Increment was one of several codenames for a top-secret MI6 unit, its members drawn from the SAS and other British special forces. Eddie tried to locate the other two men. It took a few seconds to spot one watching them from behind a rock, but the last remained unseen. ‘Anyone I know? Always wondered who the Increment took on.’

‘You were almost one of them yourself, Chase,’ said Brice, exiting the car.

Eddie followed. ‘You what?’

‘You went on a selection exercise in summer 2001.’

‘First I’ve heard of it.’

Brice gave him a patronising smile. ‘They wouldn’t have told you what it was. You don’t ask to join the Increment — you’re chosen for it. You went to an SIS training facility. We call it “the Funhouse”.’

A memory surfaced; Eddie recalled being unexpectedly summoned by his commanding officer and taken in the back of a windowless van to a building somewhere in the English countryside, where he had taken part in an unusual exercise. ‘What, the place set up inside like an Iraqi village?’

‘Oh, that’s what you had?’ said Alderley with interest. ‘Every MI6 field officer gets tested in the Funhouse, and everyone gets a different scenario. They must have at least a dozen sets they can swap around. Mine was a half-flooded submarine.’ The recollection did not seem pleasant.

They started up the hill, Eddie still searching for the third man. ‘So I was being tested to join the Increment?’

Brice nodded. ‘You were. But you failed.’

‘Like fu—… like hell I did,’ Eddie protested. ‘I shot every single one of those animatronic dummies guarding the hostages.’

The smug smirk returned. ‘Sometimes, being a good shot isn’t enough. Killing the kidnappers wasn’t the mission, was it? You were supposed to eliminate the leader and recover his laptop without being detected; the hostages were irrelevant. You prioritised wrongly, so you failed the test.’

‘I didn’t even know I was taking it!’

‘Which was the point.’ They approached the top of the ridge, Brice nodding to the man behind the rock. Eddie looked back at the car — and to his surprise saw that the third Removal Man had materialised from nowhere, silently following them. Of course; while a casual passer-by would see nothing, someone specifically investigating the area would eventually spot the first two men… but by then, the third would have moved in on them.

Brice hunched down as they reached the hilltop. ‘Any activity?’

‘Just the guards patrolling the perimeter,’ the man replied. He glanced at Eddie. ‘This the source?’

Eddie extended his hand. ‘Eddie Chase, 22 SAS.’ The man — no older than thirty, he guessed, so too young even to have started special forces training by the time he left the SAS twelve years earlier — nodded, then turned back to the binoculars. ‘Nice to meet you too,’ the Yorkshireman said sarcastically.

‘Check the compound for Mukobo,’ Brice told him. The man on the ground shuffled aside so Eddie could take his place at a pair of powerful binoculars on a squat tripod.

The view through the lenses reduced the mile-wide gap to virtual yards. ‘Okay, so we’ve got… three armed men on watch,’ he reported. ‘Two big SUVs, and a guy near them having a smoke. None of ’em are Mukobo.’

‘We can cross them off, then,’ said Alderley.

‘You thought he’d be doing his own bodyguarding?’

‘Mukobo got this far by staying hidden,’ Brice said. ‘Posing as one of your own security detail to protect a decoy is an old trick.’

‘Yeah, I saw The Phantom Menace. And, y’know, I’ve done security work for a living.’

‘I know.’

Eddie snorted. ‘Course you bloody do, you’ve memorised my file.’

‘Hired by Norwegian industrialist Kristian Frost to act as bodyguard for Dr Nina Wilde in 2008 during her search for the lost city of Atlantis, and married her three years later,’ Brice recited as Eddie continued with his observations.

‘I’m seeing something of a pattern,’ Alderley cut in with a smile.

‘Since meeting her,’ Brice continued, ‘you and Dr Wilde have discovered several major archaeological sites — as well as averting a number of biological and chemical terror attacks, stopping a missile strike on the G20 summit, and preventing your ex-wife from detonating a nuclear device in New York City. James Bond would be proud.’

‘If it’s the Roger Moore Bond, that’s good,’ said Eddie. ‘Raised eyebrows and quips, that’s all I want from a spy — ay up, hold on.’ The smoker and one of the guards hurried to the front doors. Another man appeared, issuing instructions.

A tablet computer was attached to the binoculars by a fibre-optic cable, relaying what Eddie was seeing; Brice snatched it up. ‘The man who just came out is a driver,’ he noted. ‘They must be going—’ He broke off as his phone trilled. ‘Brice. Yes? Okay, get me the translation as soon as you can.’

‘GCHQ?’ asked Alderley.

‘Yes. Provone just called. We’ll know what he said in a minute.’

‘Maybe he wants to meet Mukobo,’ said Eddie, still watching the villa. More men emerged from the house. All wore similar outfits: dark slacks, white shirts under dark jackets, mirrored sunglasses. Another old trick, making it harder for onlookers to tell the guards from the client—

‘Wait, wait, that’s him!’ he gasped. ‘That was Mukobo, I’m sure of it!’

‘Which one?’ snapped Brice, staring at the tablet.

‘I’ve lost him.’ The briefly glimpsed face had vanished in the crowd. ‘Short hair, he was putting on his sunglasses.’

‘They’ve all got short hair and sunglasses,’ Alderley complained.

Eddie tried to find him again, but with no luck. The men split up to board the pair of vehicles. ‘I couldn’t see which truck he got into.’

‘Orders, sir?’ the watcher asked Brice.

Brice was about to reply when his phone rang again. ‘That was the translator — they’re meeting Provone,’ he reported. ‘The papers are ready.’

‘Where?’ asked Alderley.

‘He just said “the place we arranged”. We’ll have to follow them — once he gets a new passport, there’s nothing stopping him from leaving the country.’

The group hurried back downhill. ‘Why don’t you stake out the airport and grab him there?’ said Eddie. ‘I can spot him for you.’

‘Tenerife has two airports,’ Alderley pointed out. ‘You’ve got many talents — well, a few — but I don’t think bilocation is one of them.’

‘You’re bloody spies! You must have cameras and satellite links. Or just put me on FaceTime, for God’s sake.’ He gestured at the watcher’s tablet. ‘You recorded everything, right? Let me find a frame showing him, then email it to passport control. They’ll catch him.’

‘Not an option,’ snapped Brice as they neared the cars. ‘This operation is both low profile and solely British. We don’t want Mukobo being picked up by some dago customs officer.’

Eddie was surprised by the MI6 man’s use of the racist insult. ‘Did I go through a time portal back to the 1970s?’ He shook his head. ‘You bloody spooks think every other country’s our rival — or our enemy. Even our allies!’

‘In this business, the only people you can trust are the ones you totally control,’ was the dismissive reply.

‘You must have a really healthy marriage,’ said Eddie mockingly, though he then noticed that Brice wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. The discovery did not surprise him. ‘Anyway, Mukobo’s on the Red List; he should be arrested on sight.’

‘That’s not the mission objective.’ They re-entered the Peugeot, Brice taking the wheel, as the Removal Men jumped into their Land Rover.

‘Then what is?’

‘All you need to know is that our capturing Mukobo serves British interests. And I expect you to help us achieve that.’ Brice reversed into a turn, kicking up dust, then took out a walkie-talkie. ‘We’ve got to catch up before they reach the main road,’ he barked into it. ‘But don’t get too close.’ The men following in the Discovery responded with curt affirmation.

The villa came back into view as they emerged from behind the ridge. The two SUVs, identical black Chevrolet Suburbans, drove through its tall gates and started downhill. ‘This road, does it meet up with theirs?’ Eddie asked.

‘Yeah, about a mile away,’ said Alderley.

‘We passed a freeway entrance coming up here. They could be going anywhere on the island.’

‘They won’t get away from us,’ Brice said, before adding snidely: ‘And “freeway”? You really have lived in the States for too long.’

‘I’m remembering why I left in the first place,’ Eddie shot back.

‘Just remember whose side you’re on — to whom you pledged loyalty.’ Brice swung the car back on to asphalt and accelerated down the hill. The Discovery followed. Both Suburbans were ahead on the other side of the dry valley. He judged their speed, then raised the walkie-talkie again. ‘Okay, we have clear sight. Ease off.’

The Land Rover dropped back. The two roads met, Mukobo’s little convoy heading towards the heat-shimmering sprawl of Playa de las Américas below. Their pursuers kept pace, until—

‘They’re splitting up!’ Alderley said in alarm. The second Suburban peeled away to the right as the leading vehicle continued straight on.

‘We’ll have to do the same,’ said Brice, lifting the radio again.

‘Wait,’ Eddie said. ‘The second SUV had more guys in it, didn’t it?’

‘Four in the first, five in the second, yes.’

‘We should follow that one. Even when you use decoys, you still need bodyguards, plus the client. And I don’t think Mukobo’d short-staff his own protection.’

Brice spoke into the walkie-talkie. ‘Follow the first vehicle. We’ll take the second.’

‘What? Oh, for…’ Eddie said, exasperated. ‘I know what I’m bloody doing! Mukobo’s in the second car — and now we’ll be outnumbered!’

‘I can’t take the chance that you’re wrong,’ Brice replied. He guided the Peugeot after the second SUV as the Land Rover continued onwards. ‘We need to cover both vehicles.’

‘What’s the point of me being here if you’re not going to listen?’

‘I’ll say it again, Chase: the only reason you’re here is to identify Mukobo. Just shut up and do what I tell you.’

‘Arsehole,’ Eddie growled, immediately annoyed with himself for breaking his own promise. ‘Was that British enough for you?’

Brice glowered at him in the mirror, then returned his attention to the road. The highway came into view ahead, but the Suburban’s destination was closer. ‘Are they going shopping?’ said Alderley, incredulous, as it entered a mall’s car park.

‘Mukobo must be wanting to buy a handbag,’ Eddie joked.

Brice drew in after the Chevrolet, keeping his distance. It took a handicapped space near the entrance. He continued past it, stopping a couple of rows away. The three Englishmen watched as the Suburban’s occupants emerged. ‘Is Mukobo with them?’

Eddie squinted into the bright sunlight. ‘Can’t tell.’ All five men were facing away from him as they crossed the parking lot.

‘We’ll have to follow them. Don’t get too close, Chase,’ Brice warned as they got out. ‘You remember him — so he might remember you.’

‘How close did you get to him when you met?’ Alderley asked.

Eddie held his hands a foot apart. ‘About this close.’

‘Ah. So he will remember you, then.’

‘I dunno, I had more hair then.’ He grinned, then regarded the shopping centre. It was fronted by a large wooden portico in an ersatz-Asian style, the name Siam Mall emblazoned across it. The five men went inside.

‘We can’t lose them,’ said Brice. He made a call. ‘Snatch team, we’re at the Siam Mall. Will advise if we locate Mukobo.’

The mall’s interior was considerably cooler than outside. A large supermarket was on the left, smaller shops to the right, but the men they were tracking were ascending an escalator directly ahead. The rearmost of the group turned to survey the scene behind him. ‘He’s not Mukobo,’ Eddie said. ‘So he’s one of the other four.’

‘If he’s here at all,’ said Brice. They started up the escalator. A breeze blew in from above, the top floor only under partial cover. There were a couple of shoppers between them and the rear guard, whose mirrored gaze remained fixed on those below — until he looked around as a line of fountains on the ground floor gushed to life. The distracted man smiled at the sight.

Eddie pretended to watch the aquatic display as the escalator carried its passengers higher. The five men reached the top and headed left. When their three tails arrived at the upper floor, Brice went right, going back around the escalators towards the mall’s front. Alderley and Eddie trailed him, surreptitiously watching their targets move out into bright sunshine.

A display of several Hyundai cars had been set up beneath the canopy. Eddie pretended to examine a Santa Fe SUV. ‘You need to call the other car in.’

‘We still don’t know if Mukobo’s one of them.’ Brice waited until the last man passed out of sight behind a shop, then followed.

Eddie waved away an over-attentive salesman and went after him, Alderley in his wake. ‘I know I’m just some stupid squaddie and you’re an Oxbridge super-spy, but trust me, he’s here.’

‘I need proof, not instinct.’ Brice halted at the shop’s corner. In the far corner of a broad terrace were several gazebos, covered outdoor seating for a restaurant. The five men headed for them. A figure waved from one of the shelters. ‘They’re meeting someone.’

‘Must be Provone,’ said Alderley.

‘Provone’s got mates with him,’ Eddie observed, seeing other figures within the gazebo. The intense sunlight reduced them to silhouettes. ‘Bodyguards?’

‘Probably. I doubt he trusts Mukobo any more than Mukobo trusts him.’

The Yorkshireman glanced back towards the escalators. The mall was not busy, but there were still shoppers milling about. ‘I don’t like this. If something kicks off here, civvies’re gonna get hurt. Call your boys in so they can pick up Mukobo once he’s back outside.’

‘For the last time,’ Brice snapped, ‘we aren’t going to do anything until we confirm that Mukobo is here. All right?’

‘Okay, then,’ said Eddie, looking into the shop, ‘I’ll get you confirmation. Alderley, you got money?’

‘Er, yes?’ said Alderley, surprised.

‘Good. Give me fifty euros.’

‘Why?’

‘So I can buy a bloody lottery ticket. Just give it to me!’ He held out a hand, waiting until the older man reluctantly produced a banknote, then snatched it from him and entered the shop.

Two minutes later, he emerged again. Brice stared at him with wordless contempt. ‘Oh, God,’ sighed Alderley.

‘What?’ Eddie protested. ‘It’s the perfect disguise. No undercover cop’d wear this. Or spy.’

‘No sane human would wear that.’ The Yorkshireman had donned a wide-brimmed fabric sun hat emblazoned with images of SpongeBob SquarePants, a Hawaiian shirt exploding in rainbow colours and a pair of oversized sunglasses with bright cyan frames. ‘You look like… like Elton John vomiting a packet of Skittles.’

‘So, a tourist.’ He took out his phone. ‘Okay, I’ll be right back — and I’ll have your confirmation,’ he told Brice as he started towards the tents.

‘Er… my change?’ Alderley asked hopefully.

Eddie ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on the silhouetted figures. Mukobo — he was certain the warlord was here — and his bodyguards were with another four men, one from each group standing to keep watch on the mall. Mirror shades turned towards him, but he kept going, heading for the terrace’s edge. Both guards lost interest, dismissing him as a harmless tourist.

Relieved, Eddie held up his phone and slowly turned, pretending to take a panoramic photo of Playa de las Américas and the blue Atlantic beyond. From here, he could see more in the gazebo’s shadows. A Caucasian man — he assumed Provone — was talking, gesticulating with Mediterranean flourish. An open briefcase sat on the table. He still couldn’t tell which of Provone’s guests was Mukobo, though.

The wind flapped at his hat. That gave him an excuse to turn away and face the gazebos directly as he secured his headgear. He regarded the seated men over his sunglasses. The farthest away was definitely not Mukobo, his face the wrong shape. The two nearest were too young, and too tall. That left…

Provone took a large white envelope from the briefcase and handed it to the fourth man. Sunlight glaring off a wall behind him briefly reflected from the pristine paper, illuminating his face—

Eddie felt a small shock of recognition. Over a decade had passed since their meeting, and the Congolese warlord was now more hard-featured, but it was definitely Philippe Mukobo.

Confirmation.

He pocketed his phone and started back towards the shops. A sidelong glance at the gazebo as he passed…

Mukobo was staring at him.

Eddie forced himself not to react, maintaining his pace. The African’s gaze did not waver as he slowly rose to his feet. His men responded to their leader’s movement with growing alarm. Hands reached into jackets.

‘Oh… botheration and flippery,’ Eddie muttered, walking faster. He didn’t know why he had caught Mukobo’s attention, but something had prompted him to look through his disguise…

The wind gusted again — and he realised what had blown his cover.

He thought he had removed all the tags from his hastily bought clothing, but now felt an overlooked label flapping at his back on a length of thread. The incongruity had aroused Mukobo’s suspicions, and now his eyes were fixed upon him.

Recognition dawning—

‘Chase!’ The name was a bark of fury.

Eddie ran, his hat flying off. There was no cover on the terrace; all he could do was sprint for the shops and hope Mukobo’s bodyguards weren’t crazy enough to start shooting in a public area—

That hope evaporated as a sharp boom came from behind — and one of the shop windows ahead burst apart in a crystalline cascade.

Shoppers screamed. He ducked, risking a rapid glance back. The gunshot had come from Mukobo himself, the warlord wielding a large gold-plated revolver. His bodyguards leapt into the open to protect him, drawing their own weapons.

Brice and Alderley darted around the corner, guns raised. ‘Chase!’ shouted Alderley. ‘Move, hurry!’

‘What do you bloody think I’m doing?’ Eddie yelled, swerving. Another thunderous report came from Mukobo’s Magnum, the round searing past and shattering brickwork. The two MI6 men jerked back into cover.

More screams, people running in panic. Eddie dived around the corner. Gunshots followed him, another window exploding. He rolled against a pillar and glanced around it. Mukobo and his men were running along the terrace, heading behind the shops towards the escalators. The warlord yelled into a phone. Provone and his own bodyguards rushed from the tent after them.

‘Damn it!’ Brice snarled. ‘Chase, you’ve blown the mission!’

‘We can still catch them at the escalators,’ said Alderley. ‘Come on!’

The three men ran along the arcade. Alderley reached the next corner — then threw himself back as more bullets cracked past. He retreated into a shop doorway, Brice and Eddie joining him. Mukobo and his goons raced for the escalators. Another barrage of gunfire hit pillars and blew out windows, the three Englishmen shrinking into their cover.

Mukobo hurled a cowering woman over the guardrail to clear his path as the five Africans pounded down the escalator. ‘Just bloody shoot them!’ Eddie yelled.

‘We need Mukobo alive!’ said Brice. He was about to move when Provone and his guards sprinted into view. One man stopped and aimed at them—

Now Brice whipped out his sidearm, locking on with laser-like precision and firing three rounds. Red spots burst open across the bodyguard’s chest. He backflipped over the balcony and crashed down in the fountains below. The plumes of gushing water turned pink.

Provone gawped at the dead man, then he and his remaining guards unleashed a furious barrage at his killer. Brice retreated as more windows shattered, a shopper taking a hit to his shoulder and falling with a scream.

Provone scurried to the escalator. His men followed, still firing at the trio’s hiding place. ‘We’re pinned down!’ cried Alderley.

A thump caught Eddie’s attention. He glanced into the shop to see an open emergency exit at its rear. The employees had fled through it to the terrace…

He ran into the shop, vaulting the counter and charging through the exit into the open. The shop workers hared for cover to his right — and on the left were the Hyundais beneath the sunshade. Eddie dashed to them, seeing the salesman quivering by the SUV’s nose.

More shots from the escalators as Provone and his men descended after Mukobo. The Englishman spotted a bulge in the salesman’s chest pocket and snatched out a key fob. He pushed a button; the Santa Fe’s headlights flashed. He dropped low and sidestepped to the driver’s door.

One of Provone’s men saw him and fired, a glass panel between them disintegrating. Rounds clunked into the Hyundai’s tailgate. Eddie yanked the door open and dived inside, then stabbed at the starter button. The engine chuntered to life.

He grabbed the mirror and angled it to see the view behind. A glimpse of Provone and his two remaining men before they dropped out of sight. He fumbled the gear selector to reverse — then stamped on the accelerator.

The SUV surged backwards. Eddie clutched the steering wheel with one hand, aiming the vehicle at the descending escalator, then braced himself—

The Hyundai smashed tail-first through the damaged barrier and arced down at the moving stairway.

Provone looked up — and was hit in the face by two tons of metal. The Santa Fe demolished a section of the escalator’s sides, mashing him and a bodyguard into gory chunks against the sharp-edged steps, before tipping forward and slithering down the surviving guardrails.

The remaining man stared in shock at the splattered remains of his boss, then aimed at the sliding vehicle — only for another three shots from Brice to spin him through the crushed rail to demolish a stall selling scarves below.

The Hyundai reached the escalator’s foot and rolled off the guardrails, landing with a crunch. Eddie disentangled himself from the deflated airbag and pulled himself upright. ‘Chase, are you okay?’ Alderley cried as he and Brice ran down the escalator.

‘Forget him, they’re getting away!’ yelled Brice. He spoke into his phone. ‘Snatch team, get here, now! Mukobo is on the move!’

Eddie squinted into the sunlight outside. Beyond the mall’s main entrance were five running figures: Mukobo and his bodyguards, heading for their vehicle.

Rubber shrilled as the second Suburban skidded to a stop near its twin. The rest of Mukobo’s guards spilled out of it to protect their leader — and to aim at something approaching from behind. The Removal Men had followed them, forced to blow their cover to keep pace.

The guards opened fire. Another screech of tyres as the Discovery braked hard. Mukobo reached his parked 4x4, two men taking the front seats as he scrambled into the rear behind them. The rest of his companions joined in the shootout, taking cover behind the second Suburban—

The Hyundai’s engine was still running. ‘Oh well, why not?’ Eddie growled, shoving the gear selector into drive and flooring the accelerator again.

The SUV leapt forward. The chassis had been buckled by the crash, making the vehicle veer off course. He forced it back towards the doors, ignoring Brice’s angry shout of ‘Chase!’

The supermarket whipped past. Outside, the three MI6 operatives returned fire — and the Yorkshireman saw with dismay that the Suburbans were bulletproof, rounds smacking uselessly against their armoured bodywork. Mukobo’s 4x4 powered away. More bullets twanged ineffectually off its rear.

Eddie knew the crippled Hyundai could not keep pace. Instead he aimed at the second Suburban beyond the mall’s doors—

The SUV burst through them, the impact crumpling its nose. He fought to keep control as it lanced into the car park. The bodyguards reacted in surprise — then fired at him.

Eddie ducked. The windscreen burst apart, but he kept his foot down—

A flat thump as he hit one of the gunmen — then came a huge bang as the Hyundai ploughed into the Suburban’s side. Even the extra weight of the Chevrolet’s armour was not enough to resist the impact. It swung around like a scythe, mowing down two of the bodyguards sheltering behind it and crushing a third between it and a parked car. Another man was knocked over, the last leaping aside just in time — only for a Removal Man to pop up from behind the bullet-riddled Discovery and put a round in his head.

Eddie clambered out of the Hyundai. A shout in French came from the Suburban’s far side — followed by another shot from an Increment member. The last bodyguard slumped dead over a car’s bonnet.

The Yorkshireman saw that one of the Removal Men had taken a hit to his arm, a comrade hurriedly examining the wound while the third man ran to the wrecked Suburban to police the bodies. Brice and Alderley rushed from the mall. ‘Where is he?’ demanded the former. ‘Where’s Mukobo?’

Eddie pointed at the Suburban as it roared across the car park. ‘There!’

‘Damn it! Peter, come on!’ Brice sprinted for the parked Peugeot, Alderley behind him. Eddie hurried after them.

The field agent started the car before Alderley was fully through the door. He pulled out, Eddie having to block his path to force him to stop. ‘Get out of the way!’

Eddie jumped into the rear. ‘I’m coming with you!’

‘Why? You’ve already caused enough trouble!’

‘Can you shoot and drive at the same time? Gimme your gun!’

Brice pulled away in pursuit of the Suburban, reluctantly passing back his sidearm. Eddie quickly checked the weapon — a nine-millimetre Glock 17, ten rounds remaining in the magazine and one in the receiver — then readied it.

Mukobo’s vehicle made a skidding right turn at the top of the exit ramp to avoid an approaching bus. ‘Oh, God,’ Alderley said in dismay. ‘He’s going down into the town!’

The Suburban cut the wrong way around a roundabout, crossing a bridge over the freeway to head for Playa de las Américas. ‘Great, right into a place full of tourists!’ Eddie said. ‘We’ve got to stop ’em before someone gets hurt.’

‘That is the plan,’ Brice told him sarcastically.

He skidded the Peugeot through the roundabout. Ahead, the Suburban charged down a sweeping road past a large piece of modernist concrete architecture — but movement outside a more mundane structure caught Eddie’s attention. ‘Cops!’ he shouted, seeing several police cars peeling out from its grounds. ‘We’re going right past the local nick!’

‘We can’t let them catch Mukobo,’ said Brice.

‘It’s their bloody jurisdiction, and Mukobo shot up a shopping mall! They won’t let you walk out of here with him.’

‘It’s vital to British interests that we bag him. That’s our top priority — our only priority.’

‘Why? Why’s some mass-murdering rapist from the arse of Africa so important to Britain?’

If Brice was about to deign to answer, he was cut off as the Suburban vaulted over a grassy reservation at a junction. The kerb was too high for the pursuing car to risk traversing, forcing him to brake and go around it. The SUV pulled away, Brice accelerating after it with a curse.

‘Cops have seen us!’ Eddie warned. Three police cars were closing fast. ‘Does MI6 give you “get out of jail free” cards with your licence to kill?’

‘They haven’t caught us yet.’ The Suburban turned hard left on to a side road. Brice followed — only to react with a start when he saw more police cars skidding to block its far end.

Mukobo’s driver also responded with alarm, the SUV ramming a parked car aside to reach the pavement before another frantic turn brought it on to a descending ramp. Brice sawed at the wheel to bring the Peugeot in pursuit.

The Suburban smashed through a fence at the ramp’s bottom and leapt into a flood control channel. Brice followed. The only water in the concrete river bed was a thin, rancid stream, the SUV kicking up a dirty spray as it rushed along. ‘There’s nobody around — we’ve got clear shots!’ Eddie yelled. He lowered a window and leaned out, bringing up the gun. ‘It’s bulletproof, so go for the tyres!’

He fired three shots. The first grazed the SUV’s rear bumper, the others hitting the wheel below as he refined his aim. A chunk of rubber flew off — but the tyre remained intact. Alderley’s shots had no more effect. ‘It must have run-flats!’

The truck’s occupants heard the impacts — and moved to retaliate. Movement behind the tinted windows as someone opened the sun roof. The bodyguard in the front seat stood — and opened fire on the Peugeot.

Brice swerved across the channel in a spume of filthy water. A bullet punched a hole through the roof above Eddie as he ducked, another scarring the windscreen—

Alderley cried out, falling back into his seat and clutching his right arm. ‘Jesus, I’m hit! I’m hit!’

Eddie leaned back out. The bodyguard, smiling at his success, brought his gun around at the new target—

Five rapid shots exploded from the Glock, blowing a bloody chunk from the African’s head. The SUV swerved crazily as the dead man collapsed on to the driver.

‘Sometimes it is about being a good shot,’ Eddie told Brice. ‘Alderley! You okay?’

‘Just — winged me,’ the older man replied in a strained voice.

The Suburban’s driver regained control. Taller buildings rose on either side of the flood channel: hotels. They were approaching the heart of the resort. Eddie looked ahead. A road bridge crossed over the waterway — and beyond it, he glimpsed blue water. ‘We’re almost at the beach!’

There was an obstacle between them and the sea. Past the bridge was a piled mound of grey sand and rocks running across the channel. The 4x4 would be able to traverse it with relative ease; the Peugeot, an ordinary family car, less so.

Brice had seen it too. ‘Damn it! Hold on!’ He accelerated.

‘You’ll never get over that,’ Eddie cautioned.

‘We don’t have a choice! We’ve got to get Mukobo!’

The Suburban whipped under the bridge. The 308 followed, juddering as it drove on to accumulated silt and stone. The 4x4 reached the mound, reeling drunkenly over ever-larger rocks — then it went airborne, thumping back down in an eruption of sand. Brice tried to follow—

He and Eddie both saw the sharply protruding stone at the same moment. The agent braked hard — but too late.

A tremendous bang — and part of the car’s suspension was ripped away by the unyielding point. The Peugeot slewed across the debris pile, almost rolling on its side before lurching to a standstill. Alderley cried out as his injured arm hit the door.

Even braced, Eddie had also been flung sideways. Shoulder throbbing, he straightened. ‘Everyone okay?’

The steering wheel’s airbag had deployed, protecting Brice but leaving him dizzied. ‘Yeah. I think so.’

‘Been better,’ Alderley gasped, face pale.

People on the beach were gawking at the wreck, but the Suburban was still mobile beyond them. ‘Mukobo!’ Eddie cried, jumping from the car.

‘Chase! Wait!’ Brice tried to follow, but his door was jammed. ‘Wait! That’s an order!’

Eddie ignored him, running after the SUV. ‘Move, move!’ he yelled. Tourists scattered in fear on seeing his gun. He scrambled on to a paved walkway along the beach’s edge just as the Suburban cleared the sand ahead of him. It hit an obese man in shorts, throwing him bloodily over a low wall, then swerved up a ramp. People screamed, flinging themselves out of its path. A flat thud told Eddie that someone else had been mown down in Mukobo’s merciless desperation to escape.

He pounded up the ramp. The 4x4 was now hemmed in, a wall on one side and packed seating outside bars and pizzerias and steak houses on the other. More shrieks of terror as the Suburban ploughed through the tourists on the waterfront. Another harsh bang, a woman spinning over the wall to the beach below. It would be a massacre, unless he stopped it—

Eddie halted, whipping up the gun and locking on to the damaged wheel — then emptied the Glock’s magazine into it.

This time, the tyre blew out.

The Suburban swerved sharply — and hit a palm tree.

Even bulletproof armour yielded to a two-foot-thick column of solid wood. The SUV slammed to a stop, its nose folding around the obstacle.

Eddie ran towards it. If he could catch Mukobo while he was still stunned from the crash…

The warlord stumbled from the Suburban — and saw him.

Mukobo’s golden revolver came up, a thunderclap erupting from its barrel—

Eddie vaulted over the wall, hitting sand as the Magnum round cracked above him. More screams from the tourists. He expected another shot, but the Congolese had turned to run.

He jumped back over the wall and raced after him. A glance into the Suburban as he passed told him that the driver would pose no further threat. He had been thrown face-first into the bulletproof windscreen, leaving a good chunk of his features stuck messily to the glass.

Ahead, he saw that Mukobo was limping. He would soon catch up — but the warlord still had his gun and, depending on whether or not he had reloaded in the car, anything from three to five bullets. The Glock in the Englishman’s hand was literally an empty threat.

High fencing around a twin-towered hotel complex lined the path’s inland side, and the beach narrowed below the wall on the other. Mukobo was being channelled, trapped — and a trapped foe was the most dangerous.

Mukobo had realised the same thing. He fired a wild shot over one shoulder. The Yorkshireman swerved behind a tree. The African opened up the gap a little, but was still limping. Eddie closed again—

A couple emerged from a high metal gate in the fence. Mukobo knocked them aside, darting through — and slamming the barrier behind him. Eddie reached it seconds later, only to find that it had a key card lock.

Mukobo grinned — then fired again. Plasterwork exploded from concrete as Eddie dived behind a gatepost. Sunbathers screamed and scattered. The warlord hurried towards the hotel.

Eddie stuffed the Glock into a pocket, then scaled the gate. Mukobo was almost at the hotel’s entrance. He hared after him.

The African ran through the doors, finding himself in an expansive marble lobby. He slowed, searching for the best escape route. A bearded man was at the nearby reception desk, complaining to the concierge. ‘Look, we specifically asked for a quiet room for our baby, and you’ve put us right above the disco!’

The concierge smiled smugly. ‘I have worked here for fourteen years, I know which rooms are quiet—’

The boom of a gunshot shattered the air-conditioned calm as Mukobo saw Eddie approaching the glass doors and fired at him. The Englishman saw the glinting gun just in time to dodge as the bullet exploded the pane. Mukobo ran through the nearest exit.

‘I will find you something quieter,’ said the trembling concierge.

Eddie hopped through the hole in the door and chased the warlord into a large cafeteria — with no way out at its far end. Mukobo spun to face his pursuer. The golden gun came up—

Click!

The hammer fell on an empty casing. Mukobo hadn’t reloaded during the car chase. The Congolese glared at the revolver as if it had betrayed him personally — then charged.

The two men collided, Eddie crashing backwards against a table stacked with glasses. Several shattered beneath him, dozens more smashing on the floor. ‘I did not think I would ever see you again, Chase,’ snarled Mukobo, forcing his forearm across the other man’s throat. ‘But now I have, I can finish what we started!’ He pushed down harder, trying to choke him. Something heavy clunked across the surface behind the Yorkshireman as the table shook.

Eddie felt the cartilage of his Adam’s apple crunch. Broken shards stabbed into his back. He clawed at the tumblers, but they skittered away from his fingertips. Mukobo leered in triumph—

The Englishman’s hand found a curved handle. He grabbed it, swung — and a large glass jug burst apart against Mukobo’s head. The African reeled away. Eddie jumped up and grabbed him, swinging around to propel him into one of the buffet counters. ‘Only thing you’re finishing,’ he growled as he delivered a savage kidney punch, ‘is lunch!’

He slammed the gasping Mukobo on to a metal tray of greasy bacon strips. The warlord yelled as runny fat burned his face. He jumped up — and hit the heat lamp above, smashing the bulb and driving spears of hot glass into his scalp.

Eddie hauled him out and punched him, then grabbed him in a fierce headlock. It would only take a twist and squeeze to snap his neck. He was sorely tempted — but instead forced him along the buffet, knocking abandoned trays to the floor. A large metal vat of baked beans stood under another heat lamp at the counter’s end. He shoved down Mukobo’s shoulders and ran him headlong into the pan with a flat bong. The dazed warlord staggered back — and Eddie swung the vat against his opponent’s head. Mukobo crashed to the tiled floor. Eddie tipped the beans over him, then dropped the empty pan after them. ‘You’ve bean done, mate.’

Shouts from the entrance. He looked up — to see several policemen rush into the cafeteria, guns raised. He immediately lifted his hands in surrender as a cop screamed at him in Spanish. ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!’ he replied. ‘No hablo español. I got your guy.’

Most of the officers advanced on the two men, the remainder ordering onlookers away. Brice ran in, only to be told in no uncertain terms to move back. ‘Chase!’ he shouted. ‘You idiot, what have you done? Now the local police are going to arrest him!’

Eddie knelt in response to a gesture from a gun-wielding cop. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t kill him. And I caught someone on Interpol’s most-wanted list! What difference does it make who arrests him?’

The MI6 officer seemed about to reply, but held back, aware that he was in a public place with numerous civilians. He settled instead for glaring at Eddie as he was handcuffed. Alderley caught up with him, one hand to his bloodied arm.

Mukobo had already been identified as responsible for the carnage along the seafront, other cops hauling him up and cuffing him with no small amount of force. Eddie was also pulled to his feet. ‘You’d better bloody get me out of this,’ said the Yorkshireman as he was hustled past his two countrymen.

‘I should let you rot,’ growled Brice.

Alderley gave Eddie an unhappy look. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘You’d better,’ he replied, ‘or I might tell ’em why we were here in the first place!’

Brice prickled with anger, keeping pace with Eddie on the other side of the police cordon. ‘The Official Secrets Act still applies to you, Chase. Don’t tell them anything! That’s an order!’

‘I don’t work for you. But sort this out and I won’t need to tell ’em, will I?’ The cops took Eddie and Mukobo through the exit, an officer preventing the furious Brice from following. ‘And Alderley?’

‘Yeah?’ Alderley replied.

‘For God’s sake, don’t tell Nina what’s happened!’

‘Hi, honey,’ said Eddie as he entered his apartment two days later. ‘I’m home.’

His wife’s silence warned him to expect a frosty reception. He grimaced, then went into the living room. Nina Wilde was waiting on the couch, arms folded. ‘So,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing happened. Where’s Macy?’

‘Napping in her room. And what do you mean, “nothing happened”? You were supposed to come back yesterday!’

‘Things were a bit more complicated than I expected.’

Nina stood, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘More complicated? How?’

He decided not to tell her that he had spent a night in a cell, Alderley getting the British Consul to intervene the following day. Diplomatic strings had been pulled to suggest that delivering Mukobo to Interpol through the local police had been the objective all along. ‘I had to help Alderley with the paperwork,’ he said instead, giving her a technical truth. ‘But everything’s been sorted out now.’

‘And you’re still not going to tell me exactly what it was all about? I’m assuming it was something for MI6 since Peter got you involved.’

The restrictions of the Official Secrets Act meant he wasn’t supposed to confirm or deny, but he knew that after nine years together Nina would read his expression easily enough. ‘Someone needed my help, and I helped them,’ was the best he could manage. ‘The world’s a better place for it, trust me.’

‘I do trust you, Eddie, you know I do. But I don’t like being kept out of the loop.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry. I really am.’

She finally thawed, giving him a small smile. ‘The main thing is that you’re back. Come here. Give me a kiss.’

He did so, embracing her. ‘Glad to be home.’

‘I’m glad too.’ Her smile widened into a grin. ‘Because our daughter has a smelly diaper that needs dealing with.’

Eddie sighed. ‘Yep. Welcome home.’ He released the redhead and started for Macy’s bedroom.

‘Eddie,’ said Nina, the concern in her voice halting him. ‘This thing… it’s finished, right?’

‘Yeah,’ he assured her. ‘It’s all over.’