Empire of Gold

Epilogue


England


The last time Eddie saw the English Channel, it had been a brilliant blue beneath a sunny sky. Today, though, the sea beyond the harbour entrance was as grey and leaden as the thick clouds overhead, a stiff breeze stirring up whitecaps.

He watched as a boat slowly approached the quay. The white motor yacht had left Poole Harbour an hour earlier, heading a few miles out to sea on its short, solemn voyage. Its screws reversed, churning up white foam, and it came to a stop at the quayside. A crewman quickly tied it up, then positioned a gangplank so the passengers could disembark.

Eddie counted a dozen, all dressed in mourning black. Most he didn’t recognise; elderly people, friends of his grandmother’s. But four he knew. His sister, his niece . . . and his father, accompanied by Julie.

He checked that nobody nearby was paying him any undue attention, then left the doorway in which he was waiting and crossed to the quayside to meet the group as they came ashore. Holly was the first to see him, crying out ‘Uncle Eddie!’ in a mix of surprise and shock. Even after several days, his bruised face still bore witness to the beatings he had suffered in South America.

‘Hi, Holly,’ he said. ‘Lizzie. Julie.’ He deliberately didn’t acknowledge his father . . . yet.

Elizabeth was just as startled as her daughter, though far less enthused. ‘Eddie, what the hell are you doing here? The police came round – they told us to tell them if we heard from you. They said you killed someone!’

‘I came to say goodbye to Nan.’ Elizabeth was holding an empty cremation urn, the family having carried out Nan’s wish to have her ashes scattered at sea. ‘Was it a good service?’

‘As far as any service can be said to be good, yes,’ said Elizabeth tightly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Eddie told her. ‘I wish I could have seen her before . . . before. You know.’ Holly, red-eyed, tried to stifle a sniff as new tears welled. ‘I should have been there. But . . .’

‘But you were busy,’ said Larry. ‘More important things to do.’ Sarcasm entered his voice. ‘Saving the world, no doubt.’

Eddie rounded on him, fists clenched. ‘No, I was watching a friend die.’ He looked at Elizabeth and Holly. ‘Mac. Jim McCrimmon, you remember him?’ Both women reacted in dismay. ‘He was murdered, shot in the back.’ He faced Larry again, anger rising. ‘Because of you!’

‘What?’ said Larry. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You talked to Stikes after I saw you in Colombia, didn’t you?’

‘Well . . . yes. But he was a client, so I had every right. I don’t see how—’

‘You told Stikes that Nina was looking for El Dorado in Peru. And guess what, he turned up at the site with a helicopter full of mercenaries and a truckload of terrorists! A lot of people died – and it was your fault!’

Larry bristled, rising to his full height. ‘You told me what Nina was doing. I hardly think you can put all the blame on me.’ His mouth tightened accusingly. ‘I’m sorry about your friend, but it’s your fault too.’

Eddie stared at him . . . then a surge of fury overcame him. Before he even knew what he was doing, he swung with his full strength and punched his father in the face. Larry flew backwards and thumped down on the damp dockside. Julie screamed.

Eddie moved as if to kick him into the water – but Holly rushed forward to crouch in front of her grandfather, looking up at her uncle in disbelief. ‘No, leave him alone!’

‘Edward! Elizabeth shrieked. ‘What are you doing?’ People on the quay turned to see the cause of the commotion. One of the mourners took out a phone and hurriedly dialled 999.

Larry put a hand to his face, stiffly moving his jaw before wiping blood from his mouth. ‘Pretty good punch,’ he gasped as Julie knelt to help him.

The burst of rage that had fuelled Eddie faded as he took in Elizabeth’s and Holly’s appalled expressions. He looked down at Larry. ‘I’m . . . ’ he started to say, but even now he couldn’t bring himself to complete the apology.

‘I think you should go,’ said Elizabeth coldly. She clutched the urn protectively to her chest. ‘Before you do anything else that Nan would have been ashamed of.’

Eddie regarded all the faces looking at him with horror, shock, disgust, then walked away, disappearing into the port’s narrow streets.

Another day, another funeral.

Eddie lurked in an alley across the street from the small church as Mac’s coffin was raised by the pallbearers and placed in the hearse. He knew several of the mourners; Mac’s ex-wife Angela was among them, as were a number of his former military colleagues. On the group’s fringe was a man with whom Eddie had in the past had decidedly mixed dealings; Peter Alderley. The MI6 officer’s drooping moustache made his downcast expression look even more doleful. As Eddie looked on Alderley twitched, then edged away from the others to take a vibrating phone from his jacket. A brief conversation, and he retreated into the church.

Eddie shook his head at the disrespect, then watched as the coffin’s loading was completed. Angela spoke with some of the mourners, then she and a couple of others entered a Rolls-Royce, which followed the hearse as it slowly moved into the London traffic. He gazed after the cortège until it was out of sight. ‘Fight to the end,’ he said quietly.

‘Fight to the end,’ echoed a voice behind him.

Eddie whirled to find Alderley in the alley, rapid breathing suggesting he had got there in a hurry. ‘Well, look who it is,’ Eddie said, trying to cover his surprise that the MI6 man had managed to sneak up on him. ‘James Bore.’

‘I thought you might turn up here, Chase,’ said Alderley. ‘Once we knew you were back in the country after that contretemps with your dad, it seemed likely. I had a couple of spotters looking out for you.’

‘You did? Thought that was MI5’s job on home turf.’ Eddie glanced into the street, but saw no signs of large men moving purposefully towards him.

‘It is, normally. But I’ve got a personal interest in this one.’ He briefly looked in the direction of the departed hearse. ‘My men are hanging back – for the moment. I wanted to talk to you first.’

‘About what?’

‘A few things. First, how you managed to get from Peru back to England when Interpol has a red notice on you for murder.’

Eddie shrugged. ‘I know a few people.’

‘Like Bluey Jackson?’ A half-smile at Eddie’s discomfiture; the Yorkshireman had contacted the Australian, not for the first time, to obtain fake identity documents, which had then been couriered to Lima. ‘I thought so. One of these days, we really should tell the Aussies about his little false-passport factory. But . . . ’ Another humourless crease of his lips. ‘Not today.’

‘So what else is on your mind?’ Eddie asked, not sure where the discussion was leading. Alderley could already have had him arrested – and still might – but clearly wanted something first.

‘Mac. What happened to him?’

‘What did they tell you happened?’

‘That he was killed by Peruvian rebels, who also wounded an Interpol officer – the same man you later killed.’

‘Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks. Even Nina.’ He couldn’t keep bitterness from his voice.

Alderley noticed, but didn’t comment. ‘And you know differently?’ he asked instead.

‘Yeah. It was Kit – Ankit Jindal, the Interpol agent – who killed him. Shot him in the back, and then gave himself a flesh wound to make it look like the rebels did it.’

‘Why?’

‘You know that Alexander Stikes was involved too?’

Alderley nodded. ‘I read the statements Interpol took from everyone. Including Nina. She told them what you told her.’

‘Stikes was in a chopper that was about to take off, with these statues that everybody’s so bloody keen to get hold of. Mac had an RPG lined up on it – and Kit shot him to save Stikes and the statues. They were working together. I don’t know if they were all along, but they definitely were by the time they met up at that gas plant. And there’s something else. Sophia’s involved too.’

Alderley’s eyebrows rose. ‘Sophia Blackwood? I thought she was dead.’

‘So did I. Apparently not. I don’t know what she’s up to or why she wants the statues, but she and Stikes went off with them – and Kit tried to kill me to cover his tracks. If I hadn’t done what I did, I’d be a charcoal f*cking briquette right now.’

Alderley rocked on his heels, thinking. ‘So . . . what are you going to do about it?’

‘Find Stikes and kill him, mostly. I hadn’t thought much past that . . . ’ He tailed off as he realised the subtext of the MI6 officer’s words. ‘Wait, what do you mean, me?’

‘I can’t do anything – officially, at least – until I have some actionable evidence. All I have so far is your word, and you’re, well, a wanted fugitive. Your stock isn’t at its highest at the moment. But if you get some proof for me . . . ’

Eddie made a disbelieving face. ‘You’re going to let me go? Why? You can’t stand me!’

‘Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. Mac, God rest his soul, always believed in you, one hundred per cent. And I always believed in Mac.’ His expression became more mournful than ever. ‘You’re not the only person who’s lost a friend, Chase. You say Mac was killed as part of some conspiracy? I’m willing to take you at your word. I want answers as much as you do. So go and get them. Find Stikes, and he should lead you to whoever else is involved.’

‘Me, working for MI6?’ Eddie said dubiously. ‘Christ, and I thought I was already badly off!’

‘Amusing as ever – i.e., not at all,’ said Alderley with a disparaging sigh. ‘But you really should get moving, before my men come looking for me.’

‘So are you going to give me anything to help? An Aston Martin that turns into a helicopter?’

‘Just a head start, I’m afraid. When you run, go right; my men are in a car down the street to the left.’ Alderley took a breath, then braced himself. ‘Make it look convincing. But try not to break my nose again. Oh, and . . . don’t enjoy it too much, will you?’

Eddie managed a faint grin. ‘I’ll do my best.’

It was the second time in as many days that he had punched someone he knew. As Alderley hit the ground, he sprinted out of the alley into the world beyond to begin his hunt.

Empire of Gold