Empire of Gold_A Novel

by Andy McDermott

  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 toward 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, fucking 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 fucking 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 disk is still here!”

  “If it was broadcast, if the people of Venezuela had proof that Callas was working with drug lords,” Kit immediately realized, “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 disk?”

  “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, realizing 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 disk—and hope those bars were cemented in properly!” They hurried to the staircase and went up it.

  Nina recognized 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 disk?”

  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 w
all 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 around and shoot. Instead he whipped it upward 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 before starting after them—

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

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

  TWENTY-THREE

  Nina and Suarez stopped at the door to the pool. The TV at the poolside showed a view from a building’s upper floor of soldiers warily facing off against a crowd of civilians. “Which way?” Nina asked.

  Eddie took the lead. “Over that wall,” he said, pointing the way as he ran outside—to find three soldiers pounding toward him, less than fifteen feet away.

  The Venezuelans were surprised by his sudden appearance. He swept the AK around to cut them down—

  The gun fired only once. A soldier tumbled into the pool, trailing blood, but the other two brought up their own Kalashnikovs when they realized his had jammed. The magazine had been jarred loose when he hit Baine, only the already chambered round firing.

  Beside him, Nina saw the gunmen—and kicked the food cart. Plates flew as it skittered across the poolside and hit the nearer of the soldiers. The impact knocked him back against his partner. Both men toppled into the pool, arms flailing almost comedically.

  Eddie wasn’t laughing, though. They still had their guns, and a Kalashnikov could fire even after being submerged. He yanked his own rifle’s charging handle. A round was wedged in the receiver, refusing to come loose. “Kit!” he shouted, but Suarez had frozen in the doorway, blocking the Interpol agent inside.

  The men surfaced, spluttering angrily. One shook the water from his AK, swinging it toward the group—

  Eddie booted the television into the pool.

  There was a bang and a sizzling crackle. The soldiers writhed and spasmed as power surged through their bodies with heart-stopping force. After a moment they fell still, bobbing in the electric-blue water.

  “Don’t say it,” Nina warned Eddie.

  “What, shoc—”

  “I said don’t.”

  “You’re no fun.” He finally managed to eject the stuck round, the next slotting into the chamber with a reassuring clack.

  Kit shoved past Suarez. “Eddie, look out!” More soldiers were running from the helipad, alerted by the gunshot.

  There was no way they could reach and climb the wall before being shot. “Come on, ’round the front!” Eddie shouted, pushing the president in the right direction. “Nina, give me that grenade!”

  Stikes and Callas rushed into the Clubhouse’s entrance hall, finding several soldiers milling in confusion—and Maximov, barging them aside as he ran to his employer. “Boss, boss!” he called over the noise of the alarm. “The cells—it was Eddie Chase!”

  “What?” Stikes couldn’t conceal his shock. Chase was a resilient little bastard, but the idea that he could have not only survived a plane crash, but then found his way to Caracas and penetrated Callas’s headquarters, was almost too much to accept. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, yes! I know him—he said he knew you!”

  “What about Suarez?” Callas demanded.

  “He let him go!” Callas’s eyes widened in dismay. “And the others too. He tricked me!”

  “Not exactly the hardest thing he’s done recently,” Stikes growled. The big Russian was a recent recruit to 3S—and, it seemed, the company could have found better. “How long ago?”

  “Just a minute or two. And boss, they said they had to find some … some disk, I don’t know what.”

  If Callas’s eyes had been wide before, they were now practically bugging from their sockets. “De Quesada’s DVD—it’s still upstairs! If they get it to a TV station …”

  Rojas ran in through the front door, shouting urgently in Spanish. “Shots from the side of the house,” the general reported to Stikes. He started to issue orders—

  A piercing bang came from outside, followed by screams.

  “Get in!” Eddie yelled, pointing at the armored car in front of the house. A soldier had been leaning through its open rear hatch, asking others nearby what was happening—until the stun grenade tossed into the middle of the group blasted their senses into oblivion.

  Eddie ran for the V-100, unleashing a burst of fire at the guards near the gate to force them into cover behind the parked Tiunas, then blew away a soldier running through the mansion’s front door. He hurdled the man who had fallen from the hatch and took up a defensive position as Nina, Suarez, and finally Kit piled into the vehicle.

  “There’s a guy in here!” Nina shouted. The V-100’s driver was still in his seat, hands clamped to his ears in agony.

  Kit shoved the case containing the statues and DVD under a narrow metal bench. “I’ll get him.” He and Suarez dragged the driver from his seat, then bundled him past Nina and threw him out of the back.

  Eddie shot another soldier lurking in the doorway, then hopped into the V-100 and hauled the heavy hatch shut. “I’ll drive,” he said, making his way to the front. He couldn’t help noticing that the armored car had an extremely vulnerable spot: Part of its roof was completely open so that a gunner could stand on a step to operate the machine gun. A grenade tossed into the parapet would kill them all.

  He would have to make sure nobody got close enough to throw one. “Hold tight!” he warned as he dropped into the driver’s seat. He had driven similar armored vehicles in the past; the controls would be heavy, but once it got moving it would be almost impossible for anyone—or anything—to stop it.

  The engine was already running. He put it into gear and stepped on the gas.

  The Commando’s acceleration wouldn’t break any records, the vehicle weighing over nine tons. Eddie swung it toward the gate, peering through the narrow slot of toughened glass that acted as a windshield. The men ahead had regrouped, taking up positions behind the Tiunas.

  Rifles ready. Flames blossomed ahead as they opened fire.

  Nina shrieked and ducked as bullets clanged off the V-100’s sloping front and ricocheted into the night. More impacts struck the APC’s rear as soldiers poured out of the mansion and joined the attack. The noise was like being trapped in a steel drum during a hailstorm.

  Despite this, Eddie almost laughed. “Takes more than an AK to get through this much armor.”

  Kit looked through one of the small rear windows as the V-100 picked up speed. “I think they have something more!”

  Stikes’s mercenaries emerged from the Clubhouse, pushing the soldiers aside. Their M4s were, if anything, less powerful than the Venezuelans’ AK-103s—but the M203 grenade launchers beneath their barrels were another matter entirely.

  Eddie couldn’t see what was happening to the rear, the V-100 lacking mirrors, but from Kit’s alarm he could make an educated guess. Foot pressed hard on the accelerator, he spun the wheel back and forth. More shots grazed the APC’s flanks as it swung from side to side. The armor might be able to withstand a grenade impact, the hull angled to deflect incoming fire away—but he was more worried about the wheels. They could still run on the reinforced tires even if they were punctured by bullets, but a grenade explosion would destroy them.

  Kit dropped flat. “Incoming!”

  Eddie hunched down, Nina and Suarez shielding their heads as an M203 round hit the back of the armored car—
and spun away to explode on the lawn. The hull had done its job.

  But they might not get lucky a second time. Eddie yanked the wheel hard over, the Tiunas looming—

  Another grenade hit, this time solidly. The explosion rocked the vehicle, shock waves through the metal causing scabs of paint to spit across the cabin like razor-sharp splinters. Kit cried out as one sliced the back of his head, another catching Suarez’s hand. The V-100 rang like a gong.

  But it was now too close to the soldiers ahead for the mercenaries to risk firing any more grenades. Eddie raised his head as more bullets banged off the forward armor—then the firing ceased as the Venezuelans realized he wasn’t stopping, and bolted. “Hang on!”

  The APC was barely doing thirty miles an hour, but with nine tons of weight behind it even the bulky Tiuna might as well have been a matchbox. The V-100’s prow bowled the jeep onto its roof before the armored vehicle crushed it beneath its huge wheels. The Commando’s occupants were thrown about the cabin, Eddie clinging to the steering wheel.

  The gate was right ahead—

  If the Tiuna had been a matchbox, the gate was made from toothpicks, bursting apart as the V-100 plowed through it. Eddie brought the vehicle into a hard turn.

  Lights flashed in a driveway, and Mac’s rented Fiat came into view. Eddie braked to meet it. “Open the side hatch, quick! It’s Mac and Macy—let ’em in!” He hopped from the seat as Nina and Kit levered the hatch open. “Get in here!”

  “No, you get in here!” Mac yelled back at him.

  Holding his bleeding hand, Suarez looked through the rear window—and saw the second Tiuna peel out of the ruined gate. “Vienen!”

  “Shit!” Nina yelped, glimpsing the approaching 4×4. “If that means ‘they’re coming,’ then yeah, they’re coming!”

  “Get fucking in here, now!” Eddie roared before jumping back into his seat.

  By now, both the Fiat’s occupants had seen the Tiuna and hurriedly evacuated their vehicle, racing for the open hatch. “No need to be rude, Eddie,” Mac chided as he pushed Macy inside, then clambered up behind her.