Empire of Gold

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 Inkarri!’

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 with 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!’

‘He what? Oh, Jesus Christ . . .’ Nina gasped for breath, the horror of what she thought she had just witnessed still clutching at her heart.

Eddie pulled himself up and pointed the revolver into the cab. ‘Stop the truck!’ he yelled at the driver.

The rebel instead clawed inside his wet, grubby jacket. Eddie pulled the trigger—

Click. The hammer fell, but the gun didn’t go off. All the bullets in the cylinder had been fired.

The driver drew his own gun, twisted—

Eddie dropped and rolled as the rebel opened fire. Unable to turn any further without risking losing control of the truck, the driver unleashed a couple more shots blindly over his shoulder. One hit the floor as Eddie jerked out of the way, the other blasting messily through the dangling corpse’s stomach.

Eddie flipped the useless revolver over in his hand. He scrambled forward and lunged through the broken rear window, brutally cracking the empty gun against the driver’s head like a knuckleduster.

The man reeled, the pickup swerving to the right. Before he could recover, Eddie grabbed his gun hand and slammed it against the window frame, rasping his wrist against the broken glass. The driver yelled in pain and fired