Empire of Gold_A Novel

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

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

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

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

  Gurov completed his hurried preflight checks and twisted in his cockpit seat to look back at Krikorian. “Come on, close the fucking hatch!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Heads turned toward the rising sound of the Hind. “What about the mercenaries?” said the first man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Nina handed it to him. “What are you gonna do with it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Yes. Thank you!” The Interpol officer smiled in relief.

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

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

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

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

  “Where are you going?” Kit asked.

  “After Stikes.”

  “Are you going to get the statues back?”

  “No, I’m just gonna kil
l him!”

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

  Hands clamped around his ankles.

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

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

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

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

  The German nodded. “What about you?”

  “I’m fine. Where’s Eddie?”

  “He shot some of the mercenaries—but he just fell off a wall!”

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

  Macy gingerly lowered herself from her perch. “Oh, gross …” she whispered as cold, muddy water sluiced into her boots. It was now only about ankle-deep, the flow like that of a brisk stream, but she was still worried about keeping her footing. One hand on a wall for support, she started to make her way downhill.

  “Kit! Over here!”

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

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

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

  An approving nod. “Good lad. Where is he now?”

  “He went after Stikes.”

  Approval turned to a frown. “Sod it! If he’s too close …”

  “Too close for what?”

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

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

  “That’s the least of my worries.” He indicated the tower the expedition had passed on their way to the plaza.

  “I should be able to get a good shot from there before he takes off. Come on!” He started a limping jog toward it.

  Kit followed, his face betraying his secret concern.

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

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

  “How long?”

  “A minute. What about the others?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “No, Mac—if they know you’ve got a rocket, we can force them to surrender!”

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

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

  Two bullets hit him in the back.

  Mac collapsed, searing pain swallowing his senses.

  Blood gushed from the wounds. The unfired RPG-7 clunked down beside him.

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

  THIRTY-SIX

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

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

  Another pulse—and something changed—

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

  “Marriage …,” Eddie managed to rasp.

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

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