Empire of Gold

Sophia responded in kind to his sudden concern. ‘What is it?’

‘I only have two men.’

‘Then who’s the third?’

‘Ay up,’ said a Yorkshire voice.

The trio whirled to see Eddie climb on to the catwalk, carrying a SCAR. Mikkel’s hand flashed into his jacket to draw a gun – but Eddie had already whipped the rifle up and fired. The blond man collapsed, two bullet wounds in his chest.

The SCAR came back to the three people on the walkway. ‘So,’ said Eddie, advancing, ‘interesting little meeting. My ex-comrade, my ex-wife, and,’ a searing glare at Kit, ‘my ex-friend.’

‘Eddie, this isn’t what you think,’ said Kit, raising his hands. ‘Interpol authorised me to make a deal with Stikes for—’

‘Shut up!’ Eddie roared. Kit flinched. ‘Don’t give me any more of your fucking lies and bullshit. You’ve been working with him the whole time to get those fucking statues – and you killed Mac for them!’

Silence, Kit frozen with an expression of shocked guilt. Stikes finally broke it. ‘McCrimmon’s dead? What a shame.’

Eddie’s mouth tightened with anger. He snapped up the rifle and fired. Stikes’s beret flew off and disappeared into the darkness. The mercenary staggered, dropping the case and clutching his head as blood ran down his face.

‘You missed?’ said Sophia, affecting casualness as she recovered from the shock of the gunshot. ‘Not like you, Eddie.’

‘I don’t miss what I’m aiming at from this range,’ he growled.

Stikes felt the wound. The bullet had carved a deep gash in his scalp, red spreading through his fair hair like ink on tissue paper. ‘That was a mistake, Chase. If you want to kill me, you should have done it then. You’ll never get another chance.’

He stared at the other former SAS man, anticipation growing as he waited for the crack of a distant rifle, an explosion of blood and bone . . .

His expectancy faded. Nothing happened.

‘Oh, were you waiting for one of your sniper mates to shoot me?’ asked Eddie sarcastically. He held up the SCAR. ‘Got this off the bloke on top of the tank. And I killed the guy on the cliffs over there before I got here. You’re getting sloppy, Stikes, putting your men in the most obvious positions.’ A gesture with the rifle. ‘Okay. Weapons. Chuck ’em.’

Stikes reluctantly pulled the Jericho from his holster and tossed it past Eddie, where it hit the machinery below the catwalk with a dull clank. Eddie moved the gun on to Kit. ‘I’m unarmed,’ he said.

Eddie nodded; the Indian wouldn’t have had the opportunity to acquire a new weapon. The SCAR lined up on Sophia. ‘So am I,’ she said.

Her ex-husband gave her an irritated look. Sophia sighed and reached into her coat, drawing out a matt-black Glock 36 compact pistol, which she dropped over the edge of the walkway. There was something odd about her left hand, Eddie noticed; some of her fingers seemed unnaturally stiff inside the leather glove. And looking more closely, besides the scar, there was something different about her face: her cheekbones looked sharper, the line of her nose more curved. Had she had plastic surgery?

‘So, what are you going to do now, Eddie?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to kill us?’

‘Him?’ said Eddie, nodding towards Stikes. ‘Yeah. For what he did to Nina. You, I haven’t decided yet. Since I already thought you’d died twice, might have to make it third time lucky – but I wouldn’t mind seeing you back in prison either.’ He rounded on Kit. ‘As for you, though . . . Isshould kill you. But first, I want to know why. Why did you do it – why shoot Mac? Why?’

Despite the cold wind blowing down from the hills, Kit was sweating. ‘I didn’t want to do it, Eddie, you have to believe me. But he didn’t give me any choice. He was going to destroy the helicopter – and the statues.’ His eyes flickered towards the fallen case.

‘The statues,’ Eddie echoed quietly – before suddenly erupting. ‘Those fucking statues! Am I the only one who doesn’t put all this stupid archaeological shit above people’s lives? What’s so important about the fucking things?’ He aimed the rifle at the case. ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow them to fucking pieces right now.’

He noticed Sophia tense – she had a reason, at least. But Kit spoke first, taking a step closer with his hands spread, almost pleading. ‘I . . . I can’t tell you, Eddie. I wish I could. But it’ll change the world. We have to have the statues. For . . . for the sake of all humanity.’

Eddie regarded him for a moment . . . then his eyes narrowed. ‘Not good enough.’ His finger tensed on the trigger—

Bright lights washed over him.

He looked round. Another car was pulling up beside Kit’s—

The instant of distraction gave the Indian an opening. Kit leapt at him, one hand grabbing the SCAR and shoving it away from the case. Eddie fired, a burst of bullets twanging off the pipework below. Stikes jumped away from the line of fire, Sophia hurriedly taking cover behind him.

With both hands on the rifle, Eddie couldn’t defend against a punch that jarred his vision. He and Kit grappled for control of the SCAR, lurching back along the catwalk. The gun’s ejection port was facing the Interpol officer; Eddie pulled the trigger again, more rounds ripping into the pumping machinery - and showering Kit’s face and neck with searing cartridge casings.

Kit shrieked and jerked back, still trying to wrest away the SCAR. Another burst of fire, but this time the spent brass sprayed over his shoulder as he forced the gun upwards. Eddie kicked at his legs, trying to trip him—