Empire of Gold

22


Lying behind the bushes, Eddie watched the soldiers in the Clubhouse’s grounds with rising frustration and concern. The sounds of fighting from the city were growing in intensity, so Callas’s coup attempt was well under way – and seemed to be succeeding. He could see Rojas listening to messages over a walkie-talkie, and from his satisfied body language it appeared they were what he wanted to hear.

Another squawk and gabble of an incoming message. Rojas issued orders, some of his men hurrying round the mansion. Eddie ducked, but they went past, heading for the helipad. Rojas followed at a more relaxed pace, talking in Spanish over the radio. Eddie couldn’t be certain, but the voice on the other end sounded like Callas. The Venezuelan paused to check the breaking news on the TV by the pool, then muted the sound and carried on after the troops.

Eddie stayed low, watching the soldiers as they reached the helipad, awaiting an arrival. Callas himself, most likely, returning to his command post.

His guess was soon proved correct. The thunder of a helicopter overpowered the chatter of gunfire in the city below, the aircraft sweeping in over the golf course. A Hind – the one Eddie had seen at the base near Paititi, repainted in Venezuelan colours. So why had Callas needed it when he had control over the country’s own gunships?

The answer came once the helicopter settled on the pad. A man dressed in black combat gear emerged. Blond hair, a Jericho glinting at his waist. Stikes. Of course – Callas needed a gunship crew on whom he could rely one hundred per cent. Even men who thought they were committed to the cause might baulk at opening fire on their own people. So what had they been doing?

More mercenaries emerged, wearing balaclavas – then Callas himself, pushing another man at gunpoint.

Eddie recognised him. Tito Suarez.

‘Jesus . . . ’ he whispered, impressed despite himself at the sheer balls of the plan. They had kidnapped the President, probably right out of Miraflores. And by using Stikes and his mercenaries, Callas had eliminated the risk of any soldiers switching their allegiance when challenged face to face by their leader, as had happened with the capture of Hugo Chavez over a decade earlier.

Stikes donned his beret and spoke to his masked men, who grabbed the struggling Suarez and hauled him into the mansion. Rojas delivered a report to his superior. Callas nodded, then issued orders. Rojas saluted and relayed them over his radio, then turned and jogged back round the building. The soldiers followed him.

The two men guarding the corner of the house joined the group as it passed. Eddie’s heart jumped. They were redeploying - with Suarez’s capture, Callas probably wanted to secure a wider perimeter around the Clubhouse. This could be his chance to get inside . . .

He watched and waited. The main gates opened and a Tiuna drove out on to the street, followed by a squad of soldiers. One of the armoured cars started up with a diesel roar: the six-wheeled V-300, carving up the grass as it made a wide turn and left the grounds.

Voices nearby. He looked round, seeing Callas and Stikes walking past the swimming pool. The general paused to lift the lid off a dish on a catering trolley near the TV and pop a piece of food into his mouth. ‘You want some?’ he asked Stikes.

The mercenary shook his head. ‘Are you sure you want to set up roadblocks so far out from the Clubhouse? If they were nearer, it would be a tighter defence.’

‘I want to cover the intersections,’ Callas replied. ‘Besides, now that the coup is under way, I no longer care about upsetting the neighbours.’ He replaced the lid, then continued with Stikes into the house.

Eddie checked his surroundings. The soldiers at the rear of the Clubhouse were still looking outwards across the golf course, while those at its front were grouped round the vehicles near the main gate. There was a chance someone might glance back at the side of the house, but he would have to take the risk . . .

He broke from cover and ran across the lawn.

No shouts of alarm. He hadn’t been seen – yet. The single door was almost directly ahead, but he couldn’t just charge in - he had to make sure the room beyond was empty. At the gate, a soldier looked round—

And saw nothing. The headlights of the parked Tiunas had wrecked his night vision.

Eddie reached cover and pressed against the wall. He drew his knife and went to the door.

There was light inside, but only dim. He peered through the window. A darkened kitchen, the illumination coming through a half-open door at the far end. He tried the handle. It turned. He slipped inside.

Where would the prisoners be kept? A cellar, most likely. He crept to a closed door in the hope that it led to a lower floor, but instead found a lounge with French windows opening on to the poolside. ‘Arse,’ Eddie muttered, realising he would have to search the whole house. He went to the other door, seeing a hallway beyond.

He was about to go through when he heard boots clumping on the polished floor. He pulled back, watching through the crack as someone approached. One of the mercenaries . . .

Eddie felt a shock of recognition. Kevin Baine. He hadn’t seen the former SAS man for over nine years. Stikes had obviously remembered him, though – and recruited him.

Baine’s steps faded as he rounded a corner. Eddie entered the hall, heading in the opposite direction. An open door led back into the lounge, so he ignored it, checking that the passage round a corner was empty before proceeding.

A narrow staircase went upwards. A closed door was at its foot. Cellar steps? He reached for the handle—

The door opened.

Eddie found himself face to face – or rather, face to chest – with a huge black-clad man. Another mercenary, a holstered pistol and a stun grenade on his combat webbing. He looked up. Surprised eyes stared down at him through the holes in the balaclava.

He drew back the knife, about to stab the merc in the stomach—

The eyes widened in recognition. ‘Little man!’ said a delighted Russian voice.

Eddie arrested his strike, jerking the blade out of sight behind his back. He knew the voice, but couldn’t believe he was hearing it. ‘Maximov?’

The giant peeled off the balaclava to reveal a bearded, heavily scarred face, the worst injury a gnarled knot of tissue at the centre of his forehead. ‘What are you doing here?’ said Oleg Maximov, grinning at the Englishman.

It was two years since Eddie had last met the huge ex-Spetsnaz soldier, first as a foe, later an uneasy ally during the search for Excalibur. He had then been in the service of a Russian billionaire; that he was here now suggested he had looked further afield for employment. ‘Didn’t Stikes tell you I was coming?’ he said, desperately improvising.

Maximov looked puzzled. ‘No. When did you join company?’

He feigned nonchalance. ‘Oh, I’ve known Stikes for years – we were in the SAS together. I had sort of an open invitation to join 3S, but didn’t get the chance to take it up until recently. I’ve been busy with the IHA – plus getting married, stuff like that.’

‘You finally picked a day? Congratulations!’ Maximov slammed a meaty hand down on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘To the pretty redhead, da? Hey, I saw her on TV. In the Sphinx. What is she doing now?’

So Maximov didn’t know that Nina was here? ‘Archaeological stuff. Kind of boring, which is why I decided to see if old Stikesy had anything exciting on the cards. Got to admit, regime change in Venezuela was more than I was expecting!’

‘Me too,’ said Maximov, nodding. ‘But job is job, money is money, hey?’

‘I know what you mean. Oh,’ he added, sensing an opportunity, ‘can you come with me to talk to President Suarez? That’s why Stikes wanted me here – I’ve, er, met him before, so I might be able to get him to tell me the information Callas needs.’

He knew that the more he elaborated on his story, the more danger there was of falling into a hole – but he also knew that Maximov had not been hired for his brainpower. The name-dropping seemed to have convinced the Russian that he was here legitimately. ‘Okay,’ said the big man, nodding.

‘So,’ Eddie said, stepping back and ushering him into the hallway, ‘what’ve you been doing since the business with Jack Mitchell?’

‘Mitchell?’ Maximov growled as he headed back the way Eddie had come. ‘That little shit, I should have crushed him. What happen to him, anyway?’

‘He’s dead. Very, very dead. Stabbed, electrocuted, drowned, in that order.’

‘Ha! Good. I work a lot in Africa recently. Always little wars, da?’

‘Do you know Strutter?’ Eddie asked, gambling that the small world of the mercenary might provide common ground - and a way to keep Maximov distracted.

‘Strutter, yeah! A zhópa, but I meet Stikes through him, so not all bad.’ They passed the kitchen, the Russian going to another door. ‘Okay, here.’

Eddie decided not to feel too annoyed that he would have found the stairs to the cellar immediately if he had turned right instead of left to begin with, instead following Maximov down into the mansion’s bowels. His new companion could have his uses, even if only as a human shield. He turned the knife in his hand.

Maximov led the way along a white-painted passage, his elbows brushing both walls, and stopped at a door. ‘When did you meet Suarez?’ he asked as he opened it.

‘Year or so back, at some United Nations thing,’ Eddie said, taking in the room. Three small cells had been installed, metal bars reaching from floor to ceiling – and each was occupied. Suarez in the middle, Kit to one side . . . and Nina lying on the floor at the other.

There was also a guard, who stood and gave the two men a suspicious look. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked.

‘To talk to him,’ said Maximov, pointing at Suarez. Then he saw Nina and reacted in surprise. ‘Hey! It’s you!’ She in turn jumped up in astonishment.

The soldier saw her unexpected reaction. ‘What are—’

Eddie stepped behind him and with a quick, deadly motion drove the knife deep into the base of his skull.

The Venezuelan collapsed instantly, the hilt buried in his neck. Eddie grabbed the soldier’s AK-103 off his shoulder as he fell and pointed it at Maximov. ‘Okay, drop your gun. And the grenade.’

‘Little man!’ said Maximov, sounding shocked and even hurt by the sudden betrayal. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Rescuing my wife.’ He nodded towards Nina, then Kit. ‘And my friend.’

Suarez pushed his face against the bars. ‘Y a mi?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Nope, sorry, mate,’ said Eddie as Maximov reluctantly dropped his weapons to the floor.

‘Oh.’ Now it was the President’s turn to look offended.

‘Eddie, we have to rescue him,’ Nina insisted. ‘And by the way: Eddie! Oh my God!’ She broke into a huge smile. ‘I – I thought you were dead! How did you find us?’

‘Long story, and it’ll have to wait.’ He nudged the soldier’s twitching body, jingling his keys. ‘Okay, Max – let them out.’

Scowling, Maximov took the keys and unlocked Nina’s cell. She rushed out to embrace her husband, but he waved her back. ‘Get the gun,’ he told her. ‘Can’t have post-rescue sex until we’re actually post-rescue.’

‘I wasn’t planning on dropping my pants right here in the cells,’ she said as she picked up the pistol. Maximov opened the other cells, eyeing a fire alarm on one wall, but a wave of Eddie’s gun discouraged him from activating it. ‘What about the others? Is Macy okay?’

‘Macy’s fine – she’s waiting for us with Mac.’

‘What? Mac’s here too?’

‘Yeah. I called for some help. Left Osterhagen and Becker at a hospital down south – hopefully Callas’s lot didn’t find them. Oscar’s dead, though. So’s Loretta.’

The news muted Nina’s joy at being released. Kit collected the stun grenade. ‘Eddie, what’s happening outside? If they’ve kidnapped the President, I assume things are not good.’

‘We’ve got a full-blown military coup under way,’ Eddie told him, gesturing with the AK for Maximov to enter a cell. He slammed the door behind the furious Russian and locked it, then turned to Suarez. ‘Okay, Mr Presidente – looks like you’re coming with us, so where’s the best place for us to head for?’

Suarez stared at him in incomprehension. ‘Qué?’

Eddie looked to the ceiling in dismay. ‘Oh, f*cking great. He’s from Barcelona!’

‘It’s your accent,’ Nina said testily. ‘I don’t think he’s spoken to many Yorkshiremen.’ She faced the Venezuelan, talking slowly and clearly. ‘Mr President, do you speak English?’

‘I speak, ah, ah . . .’ He held his thumb and forefinger a short distance apart. ‘A little, sí?’

‘Okay, we’re going to get you out of here – where should we go?’

He nodded at the door. ‘We go, yes, go!’

‘No, go where?’

‘Qué dijiste?’

‘I said – ugh! Dammit, we need Macy.’

‘Let’s go and meet her, then,’ said Eddie. ‘Nina, give Kit the gun – you take that stun grenade, we might need it on the way out. Once we reach the car, Macy can ask el Prez here where to go. If we can meet the militia, he might be able to drum up some support against Callas.’ He started for the door.

Nina tugged his sleeve. ‘Eddie, wait – we need to get something first.’

He halted and pursed his lips. ‘You’re going to say we need to pick up those f*cking statues, aren’t you?’

‘Well, ah, yeah . . . but they’re not the main thing!’ she hastily clarified. ‘Callas and Stikes met with a guy called de Quesada—’

‘De Quesada?’ echoed Suarez with distaste, clearly familiar with the name.

‘Yeah, he’s a drug lord, and he’s helping fund Callas’s coup. But de Quesada is blackmailing Callas too. He’s got a video recording of something – I don’t know what, I didn’t see, but it made Callas mad as hell. And the disc is still here!’

‘If it was broadcast, if the people of Venezuela had proof that Callas was working with drug lords,’ Kit immediately realised, ‘it would cripple his support.’

‘And Callas was worried that it would force the US to intervene,’ Nina added. ‘We have to get it.’

Eddie frowned, but Kit was right. It could destroy Callas – if they lived to show it to anyone. ‘Where’s the disc?’

‘A room upstairs, overlooking the golf course.’

The small staircase he had seen was at the rear of the house - and would also hopefully see less foot traffic than the main stairs. ‘Okay, I know a way up there. Kit, watch our backs.’

Maximov banged a fist angrily against his cell door, rattling the bars. ‘I kill you for this, little man! I thought you were good guy!’

‘I am,’ Eddie told the giant. ‘Nothing personal, Max, but you’re on the wrong side. You should find someone better than Stikes to work for.’ The glowering Russian wasn’t impressed by his career advice. ‘Okay, come on.’

They left the makeshift prison, closing the thick wooden door behind them, and moved quickly to the stairs. Eddie paused at the top. The hall was empty. He went through, the others following.

Clung.

A deep metallic thump from the cellars. And another. ‘Shit!’ said Eddie, realising what it was. Maximov was trying to use his enormous strength to rip the bars out of the floor.

‘Should I go back and stop him?’ Kit asked, raising the gun.

Eddie closed the door. The sound dropped, becoming barely audible. ‘No time. Let’s just get that disc – and hope those bars were cemented in properly!’ They hurried to the staircase and went up it.

Nina recognised her surroundings from earlier in the day. ‘Through there.’

AK-103 at the ready, Eddie went to the door Nina had pointed out. He shoved it open and darted through. Nobody there.

Nina and the others entered, Eddie remaining on guard at the entrance. ‘Callas threw it over here somewhere,’ she said, starting to search. Suarez, meanwhile, hurried to the windows and looked out in dismay across the city. The lights of Caracas glistened before him . . . as did the ominous red glows of fires, speckling the vista like sores.

‘Nina,’ said Kit, from the other side of the room. ‘I’ve found the statues.’ He picked up the case.

‘Great,’ Eddie said impatiently, ‘but what about that disc?’

Nina dragged a potted plant away from the wall to find the DVD behind it. ‘Here!’ she cried, snatching it up. There was a scuff mark and several greasy fingerprints, but it hadn’t been chipped or cracked by its flight.

Kit opened the case. ‘Put it in here,’ he said. Nina found a place where it would be cushioned by the foam without being scratched by the statues, then closed the lid.

‘We ready?’ Eddie demanded. Nina nodded. ‘Good, let’s go. Oi, Manuel!’ he called to Suarez. ‘Vamanos!’

They hurried out, Suarez complaining in Spanish – though whether about the state of the city or the Englishman’s less than respectful attitude the others weren’t sure. Eddie led the way back to the stairs. ‘Okay,’ he said as they made a quick descent, ‘we’ll go out past the pool and climb over the wall to the next house.’ Suarez spoke again; Eddie glanced back at him as he reached the bottom of the stairs – and ran into someone.

‘Hey, watch—’ said Baine – only to freeze in shock. ‘Chase?’

The collision had knocked Eddie’s gun down across his stomach at an awkward angle; not enough space between the two men for him to bring it round and shoot. Instead he whipped it upwards against Baine’s chin with a crack of teeth. Before Baine could recover, Eddie swung the AK and hit him in the temple with its stock. He fell against the wall. A boot to his stomach knocked him to the floor.

Eddie was about to finish him off, but Nina and Suarez were already rushing for the lounge. ‘Shit, wait!’ he hissed, kicking Baine in the head to make sure he stayed down and starting after them—

A loud bang from deep in the building. Metal falling on concrete. Maximov was free.

A moment later, the strident clamour of a bell filled the hallway. He had reached the alarm.