by Matt Lynn
“As you know, we’re already identified Carlos Bilado as a major threat to the stability of the region. He’s amassing a huge fortune in Columbia, building himself a private army, and could easily end up toppling the government in the next few months. If it happens, it could set of a wave of revolutions across South America. The man needs to be stopped.”
On the screen behind him, he flashed up a picture. Alex recognised it immediately. It was the gold they had captured on the boat.
“We thought his money was coming from the cocaine trade, the same way it has for most of the Columbian war-lords. After the operation you boys carried out, we’ve changed our minds. The gold you captured didn’t have any of the hallmarks we’d expect to find on it. There was no way of identifying where it came from. Of course, it could have been melted down and re-moulded into the strips you found, but what would be the point of doing that? We think it was freshly mined gold.”
Greenway stepped up to the desk. “After interrogating the boy you captured, we’ve found something out. Bilado has discovered a new gold mine, potentially a vast one. He’s mining the gold secretly and illegally, and he’s shipping it the United States. His agents can sell it, perfectly legally, to jewellers and pawn-brokers, and he can deposit the money in American banks.”
“Gold?” said Alex. “In Columbia?”
“Certainly,” said Harford. “Let me introduce you to Paul Richmond. He’ll explain.”
The man stood up, a tight smile on his face. “I used to be in the SASR,” he started. “So I think you’ll trust my background. But these days, I’m the head of security for Lowell’s Resources.”
Alex was familiar with both the SASR and Lowell’s. The Special Air Service Regiment was the Australian equivalent of the SAS. Closely modelled on the British regiment, it had fought with distinction in Vietnam and Cambodia. And it had proved itself as formidable as any Special Forces operation in the world. If this guy had made it into that unit, then he had to be a capable soldier, noted Alex. And probably a decent bloke as well. He’d fought alongside SASR men, and there wasn’t a single one of them he wouldn’t trust with his life.
As for Lowell’s, it was a giant Anglo-Australian mining company. Listed in both London and Sydney, its mines supplied vast quantities of iron, copper, silver and gold. Its turnover was more than fifty billion dollars a year, and it made profits of five billion. There were few more powerful companies in the world.
“There’s always been gold in Columbia, mainly up in the mountains,” started Richmond. “It was one of the main destinations of the conquistadors, the Spanish adventurers who came over to the New World in search of plunder. You’ve probably heard of El Dorado, the legendary lost city of gold that they searched for in vain. Well, historians reckon the legend was based on a tribal chieftain from the Musica Confederation, the ancient civilisation that ruled Columbia before the Europeans arrived. Apparently, the chief of this tribe would be covered in gold dust every year, which is what got the Conquistadores so excited. And the tribe lived around Lake Guatavita, and so if El Dorado was anywhere that’s where it was.”
“So what happened to it?” asked Jack. “It’s not famous for gold these days – not the way that South Africa or Russia are.”
“Lowell’s, as you probably know, is one of the three biggest gold-mining companies in the world. There isn’t much we don’t know about the stuff, and we keep a close eye on fresh supplies from new territories. The gold industry in Columbia went into steep decline decades ago. There’s not a lot of metal in the ground, and what there is too hard to get out. As you say, South Africa and Russia are better bets. But we’ve been picking up a lot of rumours in the last twelve months about the cocaine gangs getting involved in illegal gold-mining in the Columbian mountains.”
“There more money in it than cocaine?” asked Alex. “I find that hard to believe?”
“Then you haven’t been following the financial markets,” interrupted Harford. “With all the chaos in stocks and the euro, it’s gone from $300 an ounce in the early 1990s to almost $2,000 an ounce now.”
“And that makes it valuable again, more valuable than cocaine,” continued Richmond. “The gangs are using cheap labour for illegal river mining. They use vast quantities of mercury to flush the gold out of the mountain streams. They’re doing huge damage to the environment, but they don’t care about that. With gold at current prices, its worth it. And of course, the stuff is much easier to sell than drugs. Ship it into the US, and you can sell it any pawnbroker or jewellery shop, and pay the money into a bank account. It’s all completely legal.”
“But three crates of the stuff?” said Alex. “That’s a lot of gold.”
“Right,” said Richmond. “We reckon Bilado has stumbled across something significant. A really rich gold mine, right in the Columbian mountains. Perhaps even El Dorado….”
Chapter Four
“El Dorado?” said Jack. He chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that?”
“Don’t worry, you soon will be,” said Greenway.
“Shit,” muttered Alex under his breath.
They were sending them into Columbia. And that sounded dangerous.
“Here’s the mission,” Greenway continued. “Paul Richmond is going to escort you boys into Columbia. You’re going to pose as mercenaries for hire. Our intelligence is that Carlos Bilado is recruiting men from around the world for his private army, so you should be able to get yourself onto the payroll. Then, once you’re inside the operation, find out everything you can about the mine, how it operates, where it is, how much gold might be there….”
She paused, her eyes flicking straight towards Alex.“And when you’ve done that, pick the right moment and assassinate Carlos Bilado.”
“Why the hell are we killing him?” snapped Jack.
“My company believes that with Bilado out of the way, we can move our own agents into the territory, and get the concession for that mine,” said Richmond. “Bilado is standing in our way.”
“Shit,” snapped Jack.
Alex glanced across the small room. Jack rebelliousness grated on his nerves. The man didn’t know how to take orders, and if you couldn’t do that, there was no point in signing up for the military in the first place. It had ended up with the guy abandoning his post in Iraq, and that was how he wound up in Unit Five. This time, however, he might have a point, decided Alex. There were here to fight for their country. Not for a global mining conglomerate.
“If you need to get some guy out of the way so your company can develop a new mine, then hire some mercenaries,” continued Jack. “There are plenty of private military companies who’ll do your dirty work for you.”
“He’s right,” said Alex. Jack looked across at him. The two men had only been on one mission together before, sent into Tripoli in the days before the Libyan regime crumbled, and they hadn’t yet learned to trust each other. But Alex could see something in Jack’s eyes. The man was grateful for his support. “It’s not our job to get involved in commercial disputes.”
“Let me explain,” interrupted Harford. “You’re going to go in there and assassinate Bilado. Lowell’s already has contacts with some of the local politicians, and with him out of the way, our belief is we can win the concession to develop the mine. But Lowell’s is really a front. As I’m sure you know, the global economy is in a lot of trouble. The euro is collapsing, and there’s a new recession looming. The Federal Reserve and the Bank of England want to build up their reserves of gold as fast as possible. It’s the only real buffer they have against financial chaos. But they can’t buy gold on the market. It would send the price even higher than it already is.”
“So they’ve done a deal with us,” said Richmond. “We’ll open the mine, and get the gold out. But in exchange for help with securing the concession, and keeping it safe once its open, half the gold it produces will go straight to the Fed and the Bank of England at no cost. It’s a great deal for us, and it’s a great d
eal for them….and it means you are working for your country.”
“Looks like we’re saving the global economy,” said Jack, looking across at Alex.
“Somebody has to, I guess.”
“You leave at first light,” said Greenway crisply. “Tonight you’ll be issued with fresh identities and passports and in the morning you’ll be flown from here to Columbia. Mr Richmond will come with you, and make sure you get hired onto Bilado’s payroll. So I suggest you get a good night’s sleep. You’re going to need it.”
Alex stood up and walked from the briefing room, and out onto the terrace that looked out over the sea. Down on the beach below, some local boys were cooking up a barbecue. Seafood and chicken, along with plenty of beer. Just the smell of it was making Alex hungry. He was always ravenous before he went into a battle. Part of the body’s way of preparing for the ordeal ahead, he reckoned. Once they finished the briefing, he’d find Jack, then track down the biggest steak Tobago had to offer.
“Be careful,” said Greenway quietly.
Over the crashing of the waves, and the noise of the barbecue, Alex hadn’t heard her approach. He spun around. “I didn’t think you cared,” he said with a rough grin.
“I don’t,” said Greenway curtly. “But I need this mission to succeed.”
“I’ll be alright. I got out of Tripoli alive. This can’t be any worse.”
He looked straight at her. She’d been planning on sacrificing his life on that job, and they both knew it. What she didn’t know was that Alex had read the document they were sent into the city to retrieve: a document that would bring down the American and British governments and end her career if its contents were ever revealed.
“This is different.”
Alex had started walking along the veranda that ran along the ridge of land high above the beach. The sun was dipping below the horizon, smudging the sky a brilliant orange. Along the track, the scent of the flowers hanging across the railing was mixing with the salty air to create a rough perfume that Alex found strangely pleasing. “How?”
“No one can be trusted.”
“Meaning?”
“We aren’t the only powers interested in that mine. If it has anything like the amount of gold in it we believe it might, then it has the potential to change the whole gold market. And if you change that market, you change the whole global economy.”
Alex turned to look at her. “The Russians, right?”
“You catch on quick.”
“That’s why you hired me.”
Greenway nodded. “Russia is the biggest gold mining nation in the world after the South Africans. And they don’t mind using their control of natural resources to build up their power. They’ve done it with oil, and they’ll do it with gold if they get the chance.”
“And if they could control this mine, they’d control enough of the global supply to fix the market? Is that what you’re saying?”
Greenway lent over the railing, looking straight out to sea. “Precisely.”
“So I should look out for the Russians?”
Greenway shook her head. “No. You should look out for yourself.”
Chapter Five
Alex had been to some rough towns during a military career that was now into its second decade. Basra during the height of the insurgency, when the British troops were hunkered down in their barracks, unable to even go out on patrol. Sangin, the centre for Taliban conspiracies in Helmand, Afghanistan. Hereford on a Saturday night when the Regiment boys went out drinking. But he didn’t reckon he’d ever been anywhere as rough as Caucasia.
“Guns, gold and girls,” said Jack glancing towards the gaudy red neon lights on what was clearly the local whorehouse. “This is my kind of town.”
With 100,000 people, Caucasia was right in the wild interior of the country, about half way between the cocaine capital Medellin and the coast. A dismal, featureless place, it had been the marketplace for the local farmers for most of its history, but in the last couple of years had become the centre of the illegal gold industry. Along its dusty streets, there were dozens of metal dealers, some Chinese, some American, but mostly Columbian, all of them offering top dollar for nuggets of gold. Their gaudy neon signs advertised what they were willing to pay, while the TV screens inside were tuned to CNBC on satellite, tracking the hourly movements in the metal’s price. $1,805 an ounce today, noticed Alex as they walked passed. A good day for the local economy.
Alongside the gold dealers, there were hardware shop, selling the protective clothing and tools used by the miners, and the supplies they would need to stay alive in the mountains. And next to those, the weapons merchants. Shop after shop selling assault rifles, hand guns, shotguns and sniper rifles. Just about every major armaments brand from around the world – Heckler & Koch, Smith & Wesson, FN, SigSaur – was on display. You could buy just about anything you wanted, and at bargain prices. The Wild West, thought Alex as they headed towards the bar. Except with rougher edges.
“I’ll do the talking,” said Richmond.
“Fine, by me, pal,” said Jack. “We’ll do the drinking.”
Alex paused before stepping inside. They’d flown out by helicopter this morning to the Bahamas, then caught a regular commercial flight across to the Columbian capital Bogota. After clearing customs, with a passport that described him as Mr Carlton, a pharmaceuticals salesman, they’d hired a car, and driven up towards Caucasia, checking into a three-star hotel that still charged them an outrageous $200 a night. The Grill House, Richmond had explained to them, was the main centre for recruiting mercenaries. A huge, open bar that served beers from around the world, and steaks the size of half a bull, it was rowdy, and noisy, and rough, but it was the place where business got done, and trades were made.
“Here,” said Richmond, handing across a bottle of the local San Thomas lager to Alex. “It’s not Aussie beer. But it’s not too bad.”
Alex took a swig on the bottle, and glanced around. Usually he tried not to drink on a mission. When a fire fight was about to kick off any moment, it paid to keep a clear head. Tonight was different, however. If the scum of the universe ever decided to hold their annual convention, it might look something like this he reflected with a wry smile. Three or four hundred men were packed into the bar, ranging in age from twelve to sixty. Each one of them carried himself with the kind of malevolent swagger Alex recognized from parade grounds around the world: tanked up, aggressive, and ready for a fight.
“How do we get hired?” asked Jack.
Richmond nodded towards the corner. Like every bar in the world, this one had a hierarchy, and the guy in the corner was at its summit. Slim, with a thin black moustache, and a shaved head, he was a brutal looking character. Dressed in neatly-creased black jeans and a blue denim shirt, he was dealing out a hand of poker to a table of five men. Two burly guys were standing next him, their handguns clearly visible beneath their shirts. A girl, tall and slim, and with an elegant sensuality to her every movement, was ferrying drinks across from the bar and lighting the fresh cigarette the guy with the moustache placed in his mouth every few minutes.
“Let them find us,” said Richmond.
Jack has already walked across to the pool table at the back of the bar. A tall, muscular Columbian was leaning across the table, the cue lining up to put the yellow in the pocket. Putting a fifty-dollar bill down on the side table, Jack looked up into the man’s face. “That bill says you can’t make the shot.”
“Make it a hundred,” the guy growled.
Jack peeled of two more notes. “A hundred and fifty,” he said. “If there’s one thing I like more than screwing your country’s girls its taking your money of its dumb ass pool players.”
“Christ, man, leave it,” hissed Alex. “We don’t want to start a ruck.”
Jack down the rest of his lager in a single gulp, then thrust the bottle into Alex’s hand. “Get me another.”
“What the…”
“Get him a drink,” said Rich
mond. “And get me another while you’re at it.”
Alex started to walk towards the bar. Idiots he muttered under his breath. There were a hundred guys in the bar who looked like they’d be happy to take them apart in an instant. Jostling to the front, he collected three more bottles of San Thomas, then spun around. A cracking sound. Something like a pool cue being broken in half. “Shit,” he muttered. That moron has got himself into a fight.
Taking a hit of the beer, Alex pushed forward. A crowd of men had already formed a circle around the pool table. Jack was backing away. The big Columbian had broken his pool cue into two, and was holding half in each hand, the splintered ends jabbing forwards like a pair of wooden daggers.
“Shit, we need to help him,” said Alex.
“Leave him,” said Richmond. “If he can come out of this fight alive, we’ll get hired.”
He nodded towards one side of the circle. The guy with the moustache had come down from the poker table, and was watching intently.
“And if he doesn’t come out alive?”
“I heard you guys were expendable.”
“Thanks.”
The Columbian lunged forwards. He was big man, and surprisingly nimble, but Alex wasn’t worried. Not yet anyway. Jack might be an idiot, but he was a fearsome fighter. Aggressive, brutal and with a pent-up anger that could be unleashed at a moment’s notice, there was little stealth or subtly to his technique, but as a bar-room brawler he was a match for any man he’d ever met. The Columbia lunged towards him, stabbing the broken cues violently, but Jack had already rolled out of the way, and while the Columbian was still falling into thin air, whipped around, doubled his two fists into a hammer of knuckle and bone and delivered a thumping blow straight into the back of the man’s neck. He grunted with pain, started to lose his footing, and as he did so Jack delivered a blow from his boot straight into his chin. The man squealed, then lashed out, the cues scything through the air. One caught a glancing blow across the side of Jack’s cheeks, grazing the skin. Blood started to seep from the wound. Jack spat onto the ground, roared in anger, then put his head down like an angry bull and started to charge into his opponent. But the Columbian was ready for him, grabbing the side of his head, then smashing his knee into the side of his face. Jack staggered backwards, his eyes temporarily dazed.
