He braced himself – and pulled the trigger.
Eddie broke into a run at the sound of gunfire. He reached the steps, seeing Macy peering fearfully from a nearby building. ‘Stay out of sight!’ he warned her.
‘Eddie, wait!’ Nina cried behind him, but he pounded up the steps and raced for the tower, the pain of his beating forgotten. Past a junction, up another flight of steps—
He stopped at the top as if he had slammed into an invisible wall. Kit was slumped on the floor, clutching a bloody wound to his left arm – but all Eddie could think about was Mac. His friend lay face down by the wall overlooking the city, the RPG-7 beside him. There were two bullet wounds in his back, lines of blood oozing from them.
‘Mac?’ He took a clumsy step closer, feet as heavy as lead. The figure didn’t stir. Another step. ‘Mac!’
Nina ran up behind him. ‘Eddie – oh, God.’
Kit moaned. ‘Pachac,’ he said weakly. ‘It was Pachac . . . caught us by surprise, then ran . . .’
Eddie reached Mac and stood over him, statue-like. Even through his horror, part of his mind was still functioning with trained, robotic clarity, assessing the injuries. The wounds were close together on the left side of his back. They would have hit the lung, probably also the heart. From the amount of pooled blood, there would also be a much larger exit wound in his chest. Even with immediate surgical intervention the chances of survival were extremely low.
But there would be no surgery. They were miles from any help.
He knelt, the blood soaking into the material of his jeans. Movement – slight, but definite. Mac was still breathing. He reached down, finding that his fingers were shaking. A hesitant touch on the older man’s shoulder. ‘Mac? Can you hear me?’
Silence for several seconds . . . then a faint sigh of drawing breath. Little bubbles formed in one of the bullet wounds. Mac slowly, painfully, turned his head, one half-closed eye blearily focusing on the man beside him. ‘Eddie?’ His voice was barely a whisper.
‘Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. It’s me.’
The Scot moved his hand, trying to reach up but lacking the strength. Eddie gripped it. The skin already felt cold. ‘I’m sorry . . .’
‘For what?’
‘Stikes . . . Had him right in my sights before he took off, but . . . not fast enough. I let him get away . . .’
‘No, you didn’t, it wasn’t your fault,’ said Eddie, shaking his head. ‘Look, I’m – I’m gonna try to stop the bleeding.’ He knew it was futile, but he had to do something. ‘Hold still, and I’ll—’
‘No, Eddie.’ Mac groaned, more bubbles rising from the blood-filled holes. ‘Not . . . worth it.’
‘It is worth it!’ His voice cracked as he spoke.
‘No, not going to . . .’ Mac’s whole body trembled. His hand now felt like stone. He whispered something.
Eddie leaned closer, desperate. ‘Mac, I can’t hear you. Stay with me, stay with me!’
With a last agonising effort, Mac turned his head further so he could look up at his friend with both eyes. He spoke again, forcing out the words. ‘Fight to the end . . . Eddie.’
Then nothing. The sagging of his body was so slight that it was barely noticeable, but it was all Eddie needed to know without a doubt that he was dead.
‘Mac,’ he said anyway, pleading for him to return. ‘Mac, come on. Mac!’
Tears beading in her eyes, Nina crossed to him. ‘Eddie, I . . . ’ she began, before stopping, unsure what to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ she eventually whispered, touching his shoulder.
He didn’t look up at her, instead staring silently at the man who had shaped so much of his life, the man he had respected and admired above all others. He reluctantly let go of Mac’s hand, then reached over and gently closed his eyes. ‘Fight to the end,’ he echoed, voice hoarse.
Running footsteps. Nina looked back in alarm, but it was only Macy and Osterhagen hurrying up the steps. ‘I heard shots . . .’ said Osterhagen, before tailing off at the sight of the tableau.
Macy raised her hands to her mouth, horrified. ‘Oh no. Oh, God. Is – is he okay? Is he . . .’
Eddie abruptly stood and turned. Nina almost flinched at a frighteningly unrecognisable new aspect to his familiar features. His eyes were wide, clear, intensely focused – but his face was utterly, chillingly blank, devoid of expression. Stone cold. ‘He’s dead,’ he said flatly, pushing past Nina to go to Kit. He picked up the gun from the floor beside him and ejected the magazine. Nine rounds left, plus one in the chamber. He snapped the mag back into place and headed for the stairs, almost barging Macy and Osterhagen aside.
‘Eddie, wait!’ Nina shouted. ‘There are too many of them, they’ll kill you!’
But he was gone. ‘Shit!’ she cried, rushing down the steps after him. ‘Leonard, Macy, stay with Kit!’
‘I’m coming with you,’ Macy insisted, following. Osterhagen went to the wounded Indian to examine his injury.
Eddie ran through the abandoned city, eyes sweeping like radars, hunting for threats. For targets. Nobody there; they had all evacuated the cavern. He reached the reservoir, skirting the top of the entrance shaft to the great gap where the defences had collapsed. He pressed himself against the edge and checked outside.
The jungle’s colours were muted, clouds having descended. A great pile of broken rubble was strewn across the pool. On the far bank, about fifty yards away, were two of Pachac’s men. Both held AK-47s.
The knowledge that he was outgunned didn’t cause even a fraction of a second’s hesitation. Eddie whipped round the wall, locking the Steyr on to the centre of mass of the man on the left with mechanical precision. He squeezed the trigger three times. The first shot narrowly missed, kicking up a clod of earth from the ground, but he had already compensated. The second and third bullets hit the rebel in the arm and stomach. He dropped.
The other man raised his AK. Too late. This time, all three rounds hit their target. The revolutionary fell, blood spurting from his chest.
Eddie ran down the pile of stones and splashed through the pool to the bank. The first man was still alive, writhing in agony. Without the slightest emotion, Eddie shot him in the head, then shoved the Steyr into his jacket and scooped up an AK-47 before continuing into the jungle.
Nina reached the ruined wall just in time to see him disappear into the trees. She called his name, but knew she wouldn’t get a response. ‘What’s he doing?’ Macy asked as she caught up.
‘He’s going to kill Pachac,’ Nina answered grimly as she began to pick her way down the unstable slope. ‘And everyone with him.’
Pachac, in the Hummer’s passenger seat, looked back sharply at the distant echo of gunfire. The shots weren’t the distinctive thump of an AK-47 – and the lack of returning Kalashnikov fire suggested that the two men he had left to guard the cave were dead.
He tried his phone. No signal. Even though they had reached the road, there was still no reception; the nearest cell mast was several kilometres away in the village down the winding mountain valley. That meant the survivors of the archaeological team couldn’t call for help, but he couldn’t summon support for his much-diminished force either.
‘Stop the car!’ he ordered the driver. The H3 came to a halt. Pachac got out as the other two 4×4s pulled up behind him. ‘Somebody’s coming after us,’ he shouted to his men. ‘Make sure they don’t catch up.’
They got the message, readying their guns. Pachac climbed back into the Hummer and the convoy set off again.
Eddie reached the spot where the expedition had parked. Their three off-roaders were still there – as were the corpses of the two soldiers who had been left to guard them. A rumble of engines from the direction of the road told him that the revolutionaries had left – probably going to get backup to raid the incredible wealth of El Dorado before the Peruvian authorities could secure it.
But their purpose didn’t interest him. All he cared about was catching them.
He ran to the military Jeep
, the lightest and fastest of the 4×4s. No key. Who had been driving? One of the privates, he remembered; he quickly searched their bodies and found it. He jumped in and started the engine, reversing into a slithering half-turn on the muddy ground. Flattened bushes to one side marked where Pachac’s men had left their own vehicles. Three of them, the tyre tracks told him.
Eddie powered down the slope. The Jeep bounced over rocks and roots, the suspension crashing to its limits. He ignored the rough ride – and the jolts of pain it sent through his body. All that mattered was his new mission: catch the rebel convoy.
Pachac would almost certainly be in the lead vehicle. Eddie would have to fight past the other two to get to him.
No problem. He had enough bullets for everyone.
37
Nina and Macy reached the vehicles. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Macy at the sight of the dead men. ‘Why are we going after these guys? We should be trying to get a long, long way away from them!’
Nina ignored her, running to the Nissan Patrol. Eddie had left the key in the ignition. ‘If you don’t want to come with me, then wait here.’
‘No, no, I’m coming,’ said Macy, the presence of the corpses making her decision easier. She got in beside Nina. The redhead turned the key, then guided the big off-roader down the hill.
Pachac looked at his phone again. Still no signal. Once he got into range of the cell tower, though, he would be able to call in more men within hours. The True Red Way had an active membership of close to a hundred, and several times as many sympathisers. It would be tough to remove the Punchaco before government forces reacted, but the longer he could prevent word of El Dorado’s existence from getting out the better . . .
The road narrowed at a bend beneath an overhang of rock ahead – with a truck coming the other way.
‘Mother of God!’ the driver blurted as he braked hard. Maoism and religion may not have been complementary, but some things were too deeply ingrained to remove. Both vehicles stopped. He leaned out of the window. ‘Hey! Back up!’
The sweating, overweight truck driver scowled at him. Under the unwritten rules of the mountain road, the bigger vehicle always had right of way. ‘You back up!’
‘We don’t have time for this shit,’ Pachac growled, drawing a gun and firing it out of his window. The truck’s windscreen shattered. ‘Get out of my way or I’ll kill you!’
The terrified driver decided that unwritten rules were made to be broken and put his truck into reverse, backing up as quickly as he dared. ‘Move,’ Pachac told his own driver. The H3 set off again, almost nose to nose with the lumbering transport. The road widened round the bend, and the driver moved to let the convoy pass.
Even as far over as the truck could possibly go, the gap was actually a few centimetres narrower than the Hummer, nothing but air beneath the rims of its left-side tyres. Pachac’s driver cringed as he edged past the truck, looking down at the near-vertical drop into the clouds below. The H3’s chromed wing mirror scraped against the other vehicle’s cab, and broke off. The driver gave his leader an apologetic look. ‘Maybe we should have stolen something smaller?’
‘Just get going,’ Pachac snapped once they were clear.
Eddie saw a bright yellow Hummer disappear round the overhang about a quarter of a mile ahead, another two vehicles trundling in a line behind it: an old Land Cruiser and a big American pickup truck. Pachac and his men.
He put his foot down, the Jeep jolting over the rutted road. He would soon catch up.
The Land Cruiser slowly followed the Hummer. Even though it was several inches narrower than the American behemoth, its two occupants still tensed as they crawled along less than a hand’s-width from the precipice’s ragged edge. Next, the pickup truck squeezed through, the rebel in the cargo bed leaning out and shouting instructions to the two men in the cab.
The F-150 disappeared from Eddie’s view behind the overhanging cliff. The time the larger vehicles had taken to squeeze past the obstruction meant that he was now almost upon them.
He slowed to pass the stationary truck, then readied the Kalashnikov.
‘There he is!’ Macy cried, pointing ahead.
Nina saw the Jeep go out of sight around a narrow bend. ‘I just hope we can reach him before he gets himself killed,’ she said, guiding the Patrol in pursuit.
The man in the F-150’s pickup bed looked back along the road - and saw a military Jeep coming after them. Fast. He banged on the cab’s rear window. ‘Hey! He’s catching up – tell Inkarrí!’
He drew his gun, an old Colt .38 revolver, as the passenger used a walkie-talkie to relay the message to the Hummer.
Pachac listened to the urgent radio report, twisting in his seat. The Land Cruiser filled most of the view behind, but the road’s curves gave him a glimpse of what was happening beyond.
He didn’t like what he saw. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he shouted into his radio. ‘Kill him!’
Eddie saw the Ford pickup slowing, its occupants getting ready to attack. One man in the back, holding on to the F-150’s rollbar, and from the silhouettes it looked like two in the cab.
No rifles; they must have lost them in the flood. The guy in the rear bed was instead taking aim with a pistol—
The Englishman had something bigger. He fired the AK-47 through the broken windscreen.
The rebel got off three shots, but firing single-handed from a jolting vehicle didn’t even hit the speeding Jeep, never mind its driver. Eddie’s shooting was just as wild – but with far more bullets. One clanged off the pickup’s tailgate, another cracking the rear window – and a third tore into the gunman’s chest in a gout of blood. The man fell backwards, his clothing catching on one of the rollbar’s lamp brackets to leave him hanging against the cab, the revolver clattering to the metal floor.
But the passenger in the front was bringing up an automatic. Eddie fired again—
Two shots – and the Kalashnikov’s bolt stopped with a dry clack. Out of ammo.
He dropped the AK and ducked as the rebel fired. More bullets struck the Jeep, shattering a headlight, ripping another hole through the already damaged radiator with a shrill of escaping steam.
And hitting a wheel.
The tyre didn’t blow out, the thick, heavily treaded rubber only holed, but the effect on the Jeep was immediate. The steering wheel jerked in Eddie’s hands as the vehicle pulled to the left, towards the cliff. He dragged it back into line. But the vibration grew worse as the tyre deflated, the 4×4 harder to control with every second.
The shooting stopped. Eddie raised his head. The gunman was fumbling for a replacement magazine.
The Jeep swerved back towards the precipice. He forced the steering wheel hard over to the right, but the tyre was almost flat, weaving on the wheel rim. A few more seconds and it would collapse . . .
He snatched up the empty AK-47 and jammed its stock down on the accelerator. The Jeep surged forward, engine screaming. He wedged the rifle’s barrel against the front seat and jumped up, gripping the steering wheel in one hand as he clambered over the broken windscreen on to the bonnet.
The man in the cab had slapped in a new magazine. He turned to fire—
Eddie lined up the Jeep with the pickup, and let go of the wheel as his vehicle rammed the Ford from behind.
He was flung over the tailgate into the cargo bed – and slammed against the corpse hanging from the rollbar. The breath was knocked from him, but the body cushioned his landing, the damaged rear windscreen behind it shattering and spraying the gunman in the cab with glittering fragments.
Eddie dropped heavily into the pickup bed, the angular body of the Steyr inside his jacket digging painfully into his ribs. The revolutionary shook off broken glass and turned again to find his target—
Eddie grabbed the fallen revolver and fired three shots at the cab’s back wall.
Bullets ripped through the rebel’s seat into his body. He fell against the passenger-side door, which burst open. He rolled out of the cab w
ith a shriek of terror that was cut short as he was crushed under the wheels of the still speeding Jeep.
The 4×4 swerved sharply as it bounded over the human speed bump, veering at the cliff—
‘No!’ Nina screamed as she watched the Jeep sail off the road and arc down into the valley. ‘Eddie, oh my God!’
‘He’s okay, he’s okay!’ Macy desperately reassured her. ‘He jumped into the truck!’