But she had seen such guides before – leading to Atlantis, to Eden. It could be done. El Dorado could be found.
If she made the khipu seem dull enough to dissuade de Quesada from buying it.
‘Well, it’s called a khipu,’ she began, slipping into a professorial tone. ‘They were used as a system of record-keeping by the Incas. The knots on each string are a way of storing numbers, similar to an abacus.’ She tried to remember what Osterhagen had said about them. ‘They were used to keep censuses, calculate taxes, track how much food was grown.’ Keep it boring, she told herself. ‘They were the backbone of the Inca accounting system.’
To her relief, de Quesada didn’t appear impressed. ‘But they are valuable, no?’ prompted Callas.
‘I suppose, but more because of their scarcity than any intrinsic worth. There are only a few hundred still in existence. The Conquistadors destroyed all the ones they found.’
‘The Conquistadors?’ De Quesada’s eyes flashed with sudden interest. ‘Why did they destroy them?’
‘They thought the Incas used them to send secret messages,’ said Nina, aware that Callas now had a look of greedy expectancy. It seemed she had unwittingly pushed one of de Quesada’s buttons. ‘I don’t think that’s true, because as far as we know the khipus only contained numerical information – the Incas never developed a written language. But the Spanish—’
De Quesada regarded the khipu more closely. ‘So the Conquistadors destroyed them to show their power over the Incas?’
‘You could say that. Really, though, they’re just—’
He cut her off again, getting to his feet. ‘I will buy it, Salbatore!’ He cackled, swigging from his glass. ‘You just make sure that my old friend Arcani Pachac knows I have it, like his precious sun disc. That little communist cagada thinks he is the Inca emperor reborn? Then I’ll remind him what the Spanish did to the Incas. A million dollars, you said? Make it two!’
‘You – you’re spending two million dollars just to annoy Pachac?’ Nina said, shocked and appalled.
‘I am spending more than that! The sun disc, this great symbol of Pachac’s glorious heritage?’ His words dripped sarcasm. ‘I have the perfect place for it. When it is installed, I will send him a picture – it will drive him mad!’
‘Francisco and Pachac were once partners,’ explained Callas. ‘Until—’
‘Until he turned against me,’ said de Quesada. ‘He got politics, decided he wanted to restore the poor downtrodden Indians to power.’ He mimed wiping a tear from one eye, pulling an exaggeratedly sad face. ‘The defeated should keep their heads down. The Spanish nobles were the victors. They still are.’
‘But all that money,’ said Nina. ‘You’re spending millions out of spite? Why?’
De Quesada shrugged and took another drink. ‘Because I can. I already have cars, boats, planes, houses, women . . . I have to spend my money on something. Other than bribes, anyway.’ He looked back at the khipu. ‘I will take it. What about the sun disc? How are you going to get it to Colombia?’
‘It’s already being dealt with,’ said Stikes.
‘You found a replacement for West?’
‘Indeed we did.’ He gave Nina a smug look. ‘As for the khipu, you can take it with you if you like, but I’d recommend using our agent’s services for that as well. In case anyone asks questions.’
De Quesada scowled. ‘You are probably right. I cannot take a shit in my own country without some government pendejo or bastard from the DEA trying to look up my ass. Maybe after tonight I should move to Venezuela, eh?’
‘Maybe,’ said Callas noncommittally.
‘And speaking of tonight . . . ’ A small but distinctly cunning smile as de Quesada took something from his jacket: a DVD in a transparent case. ‘I know you have made a deal with Pachac, giving him control over the southern routes across the border. I want you to give those routes to me.’
Callas stiffened at the challenge, regarding the disc suspiciously. ‘What?’
‘Capture and kill his runners, and give his drugs to me. The only cocaine shipped through Venezuela will be mine.’
The general shook his head. ‘We have made a deal, we will stick to it. Just as I will stick to the deal I made with Pachac.’
De Quesada laughed. ‘Yes, of course you will. It never crossed your mind to use your new power to change the deal with him in your favour.’ His smile vanished. ‘Or the deal with me.’
Callas looked pointedly towards the two soldiers, both of whom were armed. ‘I don’t like your tone, Francisco.’
‘And I don’t like being double-crossed, Salbatore. So, let’s make sure it never happens, eh?’ He held out the DVD to Callas, who hesitated before snatching it from him, then nodded towards the television in the lounge. ‘Put it on.’
‘Watch her,’ Callas ordered one of the soldiers, who moved closer to Nina. The other closed the door behind Callas, Stikes and de Quesada as they went into the lounge. The reflections on the glass made it hard for Nina to see inside, but she could make out Callas putting the disc into a player and switching on the TV.
He watched it for less than a minute before whirling angrily on de Quesada. A brief argument, Callas becoming more furious by the moment, then the Venezuelan stormed back to the player, ejected the disc and hurled it across the room. Still seething, he threw the door open and returned to the balcony, clenching his fists round the handrail as he glared out across Caracas.
De Quesada followed. ‘If that became public, your new position would become very unstable.’ He finished his drink, crunching an ice cube between his teeth. ‘It might even give the Americans an excuse for regime change. However much oil you offer them, they are not going to tolerate a drug lord as president.’
‘I am not a drug lord!’ Callas spat.
‘But you are working with one, and there was the proof.’
‘That recording would also be damaging to you,’ Stikes pointed out.
‘A calculated risk. But,’ de Quesada went on, ‘it will be much easier if we just make sure it is never seen, eh? Accept my new deal. You will still get your percentage – and you know you would rather deal with me than a psychopath like Pachac.’
The general drew in a long breath before facing de Quesada. ‘Pachac is . . . unreliable, yes. Very well. You will have his territory. But if the video is ever seen . . . ’ He jabbed a threatening finger at the Colombian’s heart.
De Quesada simply smiled. ‘It will not be.’ He rattled the last couple of ice cubes in his glass. ‘Now, we should celebrate our new deal with a drink.’
‘Not for you, I’m afraid,’ Stikes said to Nina. He nodded to the soldiers. As they led her away, he added, in an overly casual way: ‘Oh, by the way – your husband.’
‘What about him?’ demanded Nina, heart sinking.
‘Dead.’ The word was delivered with a thin smirk. Nina felt as though she had been stung by the scorpion again, her throat clenching tight. ‘I must admit, he put up a good show. Even rescued your friends. But then their plane got shot down and exploded in the jungle. The end of the Chase, you might say.’
Fury and despair rose simultaneously inside her, the former narrowly gaining ascendance. She lunged at Stikes, but the soldiers caught her before she could reach him, twisting her arms behind her back. ‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ she snarled.
Stikes merely smirked again as she was dragged away.
20
Caracas baked under the afternoon sun, shimmering beneath a blanket of smog. The streets were clogged with traffic. More so than usual; there was a greater police and military presence than when the archaeological team had arrived four days earlier. Armoured vehicles rumbled through the city, soldiers and cops regarding the sweating Caraqueños with suspicion. The mistrust was mutual, everyone feeling the tension in the air.
Almost everyone. ‘Excuse me! Jeez,’ Macy sniped at a woman who had bumped into her and carried on without a word. ‘What was her problem?’
&nbs
p; ‘Same as ours, probably.’ Eddie nodded towards three policemen who had thrown a man against their car and were roughly searching him. ‘This’ll be part of Callas’s coup. Stir the shit, find an excuse to get the police and army on the streets. That way, they’re already in position when the real action starts.’
‘And what is the real action?’
‘Something to do with Stikes and that chopper. You don’t hire mercenaries and buy a gunship just for mopping-up work. They’re the key.’
The man was shoved into the police car, one of the cops gesturing threateningly at bystanders with a baton. ‘So what are we gonna do?’ Macy asked.
‘Find this Clubhouse place. That way, we find Nina and Kit, and probably Callas and Stikes as well. Maybe even stop them before they start.’
A military Jeep bullied its way between cars, armed soldiers glowering at drivers. Macy regarded them nervously. ‘How are we going to do that? They’ve got, like, hundreds of guys on their side. And they’ve all got guns. And we don’t.’
‘I don’t need a gun.’ They reached a crossroads, and saw the giant screen outside the television station. On it President Suarez, wearing militia uniform, delivered an impassioned speech. ‘What’s he saying?’
Macy listened to the booming audio. ‘That everything’s okay and there’s nothing to worry about, and not to listen to— Hey! He’s blaming America! Says CIA agents are trying to undermine the revolution. What a jerk! They’re not. Are they?’
‘The CIA messes with friendly countries,’ said Eddie. ‘Take a guess what they do in ones they don’t like.’ The traffic was almost at a standstill; he took Macy’s hand and hurried her across the street. ‘Okay, the hotel’s just up here.’
Coming back to the same hotel was a risk, but when he made his phone call in Puerto Ayacucho Eddie hadn’t known anywhere else he could be contacted. Besides, he hoped that Callas’s followers thought they were dead. They entered the lobby, getting disapproving looks for their less than pristine appearance. Eddie ignored them and went to reception. ‘Hi. Any messages for Eddie Chase?’
To his disappointment, and surprise, there were none. ‘Huh. Better find out what’s up,’ he said, leading Macy to the payphones. The last of the coins he had taken from the dead soldiers at the burial pit got him through to an operator to make a reverse-charge international call, and he soon got an answer.
‘Is that you, Eddie?’ said a familiar Scottish voice.
‘Yeah, Mac, it’s me,’ said Eddie, somewhere between relieved and impatient. ‘I’m at the hotel – I thought you were going to leave me a message?’
‘I wanted to deliver it in person,’ the voice said from behind him.
Eddie spun to find Mac standing there in a light-coloured suit, holding a mobile phone to his ear. ‘Mac! Fuck me, what’s you doing here?’
Macy was equally delighted to see him. ‘Oh my God, Mr McCrimmon!’ she cried, embracing him.
‘Well, there goes my suit,’ Mac sighed. Macy hurriedly tried to brush away a dirty mark she had left on his sleeve before a wink told her that he was joking. ‘Glad to see you both. How was your trip?’
‘Thirteen hours on a bus, loved every minute,’ said Eddie. ‘How the bloody hell did you get here so fast? And what are MI6 doing about Callas and Stikes?’
‘It’s a long-ish story, so I’ll tell it in my room,’ said Mac. ‘And while we’re there, you can take advantage of the shower . . . ’
‘So MI6 aren’t going to do a fucking thing?’ Eddie exclaimed, after Mac had described his dealings with the British intelligence agency. ‘I knew you can’t trust a fucking spook. Was it Alderley? And after I invited him to my wedding do, an’ all.’
‘Funny, I seem to remember you “accidentally” dropped his invitation down a drain,’ said Mac.
‘Yeah, there was that. But I’m sure he’s not bitter.’
‘Actually, South America is outside Peter’s section, so I didn’t speak to him. I did talk to C, though.’
‘Who’s C?’ Macy asked, emerging from the bathroom in an oversized dressing gown.
‘Head of MI6,’ Eddie told her.
‘I thought that was M?’
Mac smiled. ‘James Bond isn’t real, Macy. But I discussed this with C, although he wasn’t pleased at being woken up at four in the morning.’
‘So if you talked to him, why aren’t they going to do anything?’ demanded Eddie.
‘Well,’ said Mac, leaning back in his chair, ‘the official position of Her Majesty’s Government is that the internal politics of Venezuela are the country’s own affair, and that British interests are not sufficient to justify any kind of interference. Unofficially, of course, HMG would not object to Suarez’s being replaced by someone less incendiary. They’re also rather unhappy with statements he and his predecessor made about the Queen, and Britain’s ownership of the Falklands. In short, they’d be happy to see him go.’
‘Even if it means him being replaced by Callas? The guy’s a cold-blooded murderer working with drug lords! As soon as he takes power, the country’ll be a fucking bloodbath.’
‘Same old story,’ Mac said, shaking his head ruefully. ‘In a choice between two third-world military strongmen, we always seem to support whoever’s the more unpleasant.’
‘And what about Stikes? He’s British, his company’s British - he’s ex-SAS, for Christ’s sake. Doesn’t that count as being involved if he’s helping overthrow a democratically elected leader?’
‘How? He’s a private military contractor; he can choose to work wherever and for whomever he chooses. 3S has never worked directly for our government, so there’s no conflict of interest or potential for embarrassment there. As long as he doesn’t break the law in Britain, his hands are clean.’
Eddie threw up his own hands. ‘So that’s it?’
‘I did convince them to give me something, even if it’s not much. I got the address of this Clubhouse place.’ He took out his phone and brought up the map app, a pin showing a location in Valle Arriba. ‘After that, I went straight to Heathrow and got a standby ticket on the first morning flight to Caracas. Business class, so it cost me a bloody fortune. Still, whenever I get involved with you my bank account always takes a beating, so I should be used to it by now.’
Eddie looked at the map. ‘I want to check this place out in person.’
‘I thought you might. I’ve got a hire car. Although there’s something I think you should do first.’
‘What?’
Mac glanced towards the bathroom. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Eddie,’ Macy said, ‘but . . . you kinda stink.’
Eddie looked down at his filthy, ripped, bloodstained clothing. ‘You mean they aren’t going to bottle me as the new fragrance from Hugo Boss?’
‘Cool house,’ said Macy, regarding the Clubhouse through the rented Fiat’s rear window.
Eddie made a non-committal sound. Architecture was not foremost on his mind, but rather the soldiers on duty around the mansion. There were two at the main gate, and even though the building and its grounds were partially concealed behind trees and a wall he had spotted at least three other uniformed men. As Callas’s unofficial headquarters, those numbers would be the tip of the iceberg.
‘So what do you think?’ Mac asked from the driver’s seat.
‘Unless I dress up as a delivery boy bringing twenty pizzas, I doubt I’ll get in through the front gate. And they’ll be watching the golf course round the back too.’ He looked at one of the nearby houses. Another mansion, though not as grand as the one the Venezuelan government had confiscated. ‘The neighbours – they’re still all normal houses with people living in them, right?’
‘I think so. According to MI6, the chap who owned the Clubhouse was rather outspoken against the Suarez regime. Whether the tax evasion charges were real or trumped up they didn’t know, but he was someone Suarez had been targeting for some time.’
Eddie scanned the row of luxury houses. ‘Might have to do a bit of garden
-hopping. But I’ll need a distraction to get into the Clubhouse grounds without being seen.’
‘I’m sure we can come up with something,’ said Mac. ‘But if you’ve seen as much as you need, we should go. Being parked like this is probably attracting attention.’ The tree-lined street was devoid of stationary vehicles; all the houses had drives and garages large enough to accommodate multiple cars. Parking on the road was a giveaway that someone didn’t belong.
‘Yeah, okay.’ Eddie looked back at the Clubhouse – and saw the main gates open, the guards moving aside. ‘No, hang on – someone’s coming out.’
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