‘Nobody wants to be remembered like this,’ Nina said.
‘No.’ He gazed at the bodies for a moment, then looked back at the cavern. Several soldiers were making their way down the collapsed wall, bearing more corpses on stretchers. The first was dressed in dirty and mismatched camouflage gear; one of the revolutionaries. ‘But something good has come from this,’ Alvarado continued. ‘Pachac and his butchers are dead. You have done my country a great favour by killing them.’
‘I’m sure my husband’ll be thrilled to hear that,’ said Nina bitterly, eyes fixed on another of the bodies being brought out.
Mac.
‘He should be,’ said Alvarado. ‘But I am sorry for the loss of your friends.’
‘Thank you.’
He was about to add something when an official called out to him. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, moving away to speak to his subordinate. On the way he passed Eddie, returning from having his injuries treated by a Peruvian army medic. The Englishman stopped when he saw Mac, watching as he was placed alongside the other corpses. A soldier prepared to pull a sheet over the unmoving figure.
‘No!’ Eddie snapped, hurrying over. ‘I’ll do it.’ He crouched and took hold of the sheet . . . but didn’t pull it up. Instead, he stared down at his friend’s still, pale face.
Nina joined him. Seconds passed, Eddie still holding the sheet in silence. Finally, she spoke. ‘Eddie?’
He twitched, as if surprised to hear her voice, then abruptly pulled the sheet over Mac’s head and stood. ‘What?’
‘I’m so sorry. Are . . . are you okay?’ She gently touched his arm.
He pulled away – only slightly, but enough to give her a shock of dismay, rejection. ‘No. I’m not.’
‘What can I do? Do you want anything?’
‘I just need to think.’ Face set and unreadable, he turned away and limped towards the nearby trees.
‘Eddie . . .’ Nina said quietly, her voice tailing off with the hopeless feeling that nothing she could say would help.
‘Nina?’ Macy, approaching with Kit and Osterhagen. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Not really,’ Nina replied, still watching Eddie’s retreat.
Macy’s lips quivered as she realised who was under the sheet. ‘Oh, that’s . . . Mr McCrimmon. Oh . . .’ Tears welled in her eyes.
Kit, looking equally stricken, put a hand on her shoulder. His sleeve had been cut away, the bullet wound to his arm bandaged. ‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ he said quietly, as much to himself as to her.
Osterhagen was also solemn as he regarded the bodies. ‘None of this should. So many deaths. All because of gold, the greed for gold.’
‘Five centuries, and nothing’s changed,’ Nina said sadly.
‘Maybe some day it will,’ said Kit.
‘I wish it could. But I doubt it. People never change.’ She looked back at her husband, seeing him standing at the edge of the clearing, head bowed. ‘I need to be with Eddie,’ she said, starting after him. But she had no idea what she could possibly say to comfort him.
A Peruvian official bustled past her, holding a satellite phone. ‘Mr Jindal! A call for you. From Interpol.’
Kit took the phone. ‘Yes, this is Jindal.’
‘This is Alexander Stikes,’ said the crisp English voice from the other end of the line. Kit froze. ‘I’d like to offer you a deal . . . ’
39
The panoramic windows of the villa in which the Peruvian government had housed the surviving explorers looked out across Lima from the city’s southeastern hills, but even though he was facing the view Eddie’s eyes weren’t taking in the spectacular burning sky of a Pacific sunset beyond the darkening capital. His focus was directed inwards.
Kit hesitated at the door before steeling himself and entering. He stood beside Eddie’s chair, gazing in silence at the vista outside for a long moment, then finally summoned the courage to speak. ‘Eddie?’
Eddie didn’t seem to have registered his presence, until a fractional tilt of his head brought the Indian into his eyeline. ‘Eddie,’ Kit repeated, ‘I just wanted to say that . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Mac. It shouldn’t have happened.’
‘No. It shouldn’t.’ There was an odd, almost mechanical feel to Eddie’s eventual response, rusty gears slowly grinding to life.
‘If he hadn’t decided to destroy the helicopter, if he hadn’t been in that place at that time . . . it wouldn’t have. He’d still be alive. If he hadn’t gone after Stikes . . .’
‘Stikes.’ The word was a growl. ‘You shouldn’t talk to me about Stikes.’
A cold fear swept through Kit’s body. Eddie couldn’t possibly know about the phone call – could he? ‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re a cop. And I’m going to murder that fucker.’
He tried to conceal his relief. ‘I think this is one occasion where I would be willing to look the other way.’
Eddie nodded, then sank back into silence. Kit felt compelled to keep speaking. ‘He was a good man. Brave
