Empire of Gold

fence, a small cliff beyond the facility. A car was parked outside the gate.

Except for the burning coal of his fury, his mind was completely analytical, assessing the scene from a tactical perspective. The car had to be Kit’s, and if he was there, Stikes would be too. But it was unlikely he would have come alone. So where would the other mercenaries be?

Elevated positions, where they could both cover their boss and watch the road. On top of the tanks, on the cliff. No way to know how many – but Stikes’s forces had been winnowed down at El Dorado, and it was unlikely he would have been able to drum up more at such short notice. He had left the cavern with only the Hind’s pilot and one other man . . .

The driver started to slow for the turning on to the dirt road. ‘No, keep going,’ Eddie told him. He looked down the highway, seeing taillights disappear round a curve in the distance. ‘Stop once we get round the next corner.’

He turned his attention to the rugged landscape. Scrubby bushes, small trees. Adequate cover. It would take him ten to fifteen minutes to make a stealthy crossing.

The taxi passed the pumping station. Eddie looked back, seeing movement. Two figures on an elevated walkway. Even at this distance, he recognised them both.

Stikes. And Kit.

His fears had been confirmed. They were working together.

The coal inside him burned hotter.

Stikes’s satellite phone warbled. The mercenary answered it, then gave Kit a crooked smile. ‘It’s for you.’

Kit took the phone, listened to the brief message, then disconnected. ‘The helicopter is on its way,’ he reported. ‘It should be here in about twenty minutes.’

Stikes checked his watch, then nodded. He noticed Kit looking towards the gate. ‘Something wrong?’

‘The security cameras. It could be hard for me to explain to Interpol what was going on if this is recorded – and the Group’s representative certainly won’t want to be seen.’

Stikes tutted. ‘Do you think I’m an amateur? The camera at the gate is sending a looped recording – and as long as we stay away from the pumps,’ he gestured at the machinery behind Kit, ‘none of the others can see us. I don’t particularly want to appear on Candid Camera either.’

‘I suppose not.’ He turned his gaze back to the gate and the road beyond, seeing a lone car pass out of sight round a bend.

‘You want me to wait?’ asked the taxi driver.

‘No, that’s fine,’ said Eddie, paying him and providing a generous tip before getting out. The driver shrugged, then drove away.

Eddie started uphill through the undergrowth towards the escarpment.

With no time to go through the rigmarole of obtaining a car through government or United Nations channels, Nina and Macy had followed Eddie’s example and got the maid to summon a taxi. It was now heading through Lima’s southern outskirts for the Panamerica Highway. ‘How long before we get to this station?’ Nina asked.

Macy put the question to the driver in Spanish. ‘About twenty-five minutes,’ she said after getting an answer. ‘And yes, I already told him that we’re in a rush.’

Nina tapped her foot in impatience – and worry. Would they get there in time to stop Eddie making a mistake?

Kit broke off from pacing the catwalk to check his watch. Over twenty minutes had passed since the phone call, and there was still no sign of a helicopter. The Group’s representative might simply be being cautious . . . but might also have decided that the risk was too great and abandoned the meeting.

And their operative. The thought twisted his stomach into a knot. He glanced at the gas tank. Stikes’s sniper was still lying on the platform. The Interpol officer had no doubts whatsoever that Stikes would kill him the moment he felt things had gone wrong . . .

A new sound over the unceasing rumble of the gas pumps. Rotor blades. The helicopter.

Unable to conceal a sigh of relief, he looked for the noise’s source, seeing strobe lights in the sky to the west.

Eddie also heard the incoming chopper, and froze behind one of the tanks. Stikes and Kit showed no signs of surprise or alarm, so they were expecting it. Who was aboard?

For now, that was irrelevant. What mattered was that it gave him a deadline: it was no more than two minutes away from touching down. He had to be finished before it arrived.

He set off again, moving through the pumping station’s shadows until he reached the ladder up one of the tanks. From here, the sound of the pumps was a steady, churning rumble, backed by the low-frequency hiss of gas rushing through the main pipeline. It would mask the sound of his climb – and better yet, he realised as he took hold of the ladder, there was a vibration running through the framework that would camouflage his steps.

He began to climb. The tank was about thirty feet high. As he approached its top he slowed, cautiously peering on to the platform.

A man dressed in black lay upon it, back to him.

One of Stikes’s men, armed with a SCAR rifle with a telescopic sight. He wasn’t looking through the scope, though; he was watching the approaching helicopter.

Eddie waited, poised at the top of the ladder. If he climbed any higher, the man might catch him in his peripheral vision and raise the alarm. The chopper was now only a minute out. Look away, dammit!