Empire of Gold

Nina had crashed through a stand of bushes to a soft, if messy, splashdown in a glutinous pool of mud. Bruised, face cut, she dragged herself from the mire and staggered to the cliff edge.

Her plan had worked. She had blocked the exit from the narrow canyon, forcing the plane to stop . . . but it had turned round and was now heading straight for Eddie.

It accelerated, about to mow him down—

Eddie abandoned his attempt to untangle himself and dropped underwater, kicking downwards. The float’s keel bashed against his foot as it passed just inches above him in the shallow channel.

He surfaced, heart pounding – then realised the danger was far from over as the colourful line skimmed sinuously past him, still hooked to the strut. He grabbed the rope as it jerked into motion, friction burning his palms.

But at least now he wasn’t a helpless dead weight. He pulled himself along the rope towards the float.

Something yanked hard on his entangled leg – the winch. It had sunk when the plane stopped, and was now being towed along behind again. Eddie grimaced, but kept reeling himself in. He was almost level with the Cessna’s tail, the float just feet away.

The cave passed by to his left, the channel ahead curving round the island. Over the engine’s roar he heard gunshots echoing from the cliffs.

Despite the best efforts of Probst and his team, two of the bodyguards had reached a speedboat and started it. The cops concentrated their fire on the vessel as it moved from the jetty - but this allowed another two thugs to reach the bottom of the path and find cover, shooting back.

Kit ducked as bullets smacked into the cliff in front of him. He wiped away grit and opened his eyes – to see the floatplane approaching.

Probst spotted it too. ‘De Quesada, it must be!’ He swung round his rifle and opened fire.

‘No!’ said Kit, batting the weapon upwards. ‘You’ll hit Eddie!’ He pointed at the man who had just pulled himself on to one of the floats.

Probst swore in German, then shouted to the others: ‘Don’t shoot the plane! Chase is aboard!’

‘He’ll get away!’ Cruz protested.

Kit looked out to sea. The Coast Guard vessel was coming in at speed. ‘Forget the speedboats – tell them to block him before he can take off!’

Clinging to the float, Eddie winced as bullets struck the plane - then the barrage stopped. Hoping that meant he had been seen, he hooked an elbow round the diagonal brace connecting the float to the wing and freed his leg from the rope. It whipped away as he released it, the heavy winch still acting like an anchor.

He saw the jetty ahead, one of the speedboats moving away.

Into the plane’s path.

De Quesada had seen it too. The engine note rose, the wing flaps clunking to their full extent as he tried to give the plane as much lift as possible.

Eddie moved forward and briefly raised his head to glance into the cabin. He was surprised to see the khipu in a plastic bag on the passenger seat, but was more interested in the drug lord. The Colombian was concentrating on getting the plane into the air.

He advanced again, reaching for the door handle . . .

Wind whistled through a bullet hole in the cabin roof. Ten centimetres over, and the round would have struck de Quesada himself. Blessing his good fortune, he looked round to see where else the plane had been hit . . .

The top of a head, short dark hair fluttering in the wind, was visible through a window. Edging towards the passenger-side door.

Jaw set, de Quesada gripped the control yoke tightly with one hand, his other clenching into a fist . . .

Eddie pulled the door open, thrusting himself into the cramped cabin – and was punched hard in the face.

Caught completely by surprise, he toppled backwards, clawing for a handhold but only managing to snatch up the bag on the passenger seat. With nothing to support himself, he fell. . .

His empty hand caught the rope just as the drag of the waves snatched him from the float. He slid back down the line. Even wet, it burned his skin again before he managed to get a grip with his other hand, using a corner of the large bag as a makeshift glove to protect his palm. He hung on tightly, gasping in the spray.

The spray suddenly stopped as the Cessna took off.

‘Oh, shiiiiit!’ Eddie yelled as he was pulled from the water. He was heading into the sky – but if he let go of the rope, he would slam into the speedboat directly ahead like a torpedo.

The men in the boat were forced to duck as the Skyhawk roared barely a foot above. One realised it was trailing something and raised his head to see what—

Eddie pulled up both feet and kicked the bodyguard in the face, backflipping him out of the boat in a spray of blood and teeth.

Behind him, the rope rasped over the speedboat’s side—

The winch smashed through the hull – and snagged. The boat flipped over, flinging the other man screaming into the sea, and landed upside down, carving a great swathe out of the ocean as it was dragged behind the floatplane.

The extra weight threw the Cessna out of control. It yawed sideways as the boat pulled it back down.