King Solomon's Curse

  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. An
other 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.