Empire of Gold

Callas nodded, then looked at the prisoners in the truck. ‘First we deal with them. Dr Wilde is the only one we need alive. The others—’

‘Jindal too,’ Stikes interrupted.

‘What?’ Callas asked, confused, as Nina and Kit exchanged shocked looks. ‘The Interpol agent? Why him?’

‘I have my reasons.’ He let the words hang in the air as he regarded Kit thoughtfully.

‘Get them down,’ Callas ordered. The soldiers in the truck forced Nina and Kit to their feet.

‘Let them go,’ Nina demanded. ‘If you kill them, you might as well kill me too, because I’ll never tell you what you want to know.’

The Venezuelan smiled, a chilling crocodile grin. ‘That sounds like a challenge, Dr Wilde. And as I told Pachac, challenging me results in pain. Great pain.’

He shouted more commands in Spanish: for a forklift to load the crate containing the Punchaco aboard the Mil; two men to take a Jeep to Valverde and clear out any personal effects from the expedition’s hotel rooms; the prisoners to be driven to ‘the hole’. Whatever it was, it was clear that the trip would be one way. Callas began to walk away—

‘Bastardo!’ yelled Valero. He dived for one of the soldiers’ weapons, only to be clubbed down and kicked repeatedly in the head and chest. Macy jumped up, shouting for them to stop, but was shoved to the bloodstained floor.

‘Let them go,’ Nina repeated. This time, it was not a demand but a plea for mercy.

None was forthcoming. Callas waved a hand, and the truck drove away, the prisoners at gunpoint in its back.

15

Panting, muscles stiff and burning, Eddie watched from a high branch of a creeper-choked tree as the truck set off. His run through the jungle, stopping every ten minutes to check his bearing against the sun, had taken just over two hours. Tough going, but the thought of what would happen to Nina and the others if he didn’t make it had driven him on.

But he was too late.

Even from outside the perimeter fence he had picked out Nina’s red hair immediately in the hot afternoon sun. She and Kit were being taken to the Mi-17. A forklift hoisted the crate containing the sun disc into its cabin, and it looked as though Stikes, recognisable by his beret, and Callas were waiting to board the helicopter as well.

But his concern was now for those left behind. The armed guards in the truck told him that at least some of the prisoners were still alive . . . but they wouldn’t be for long. Civilians held on a military base might arouse questions. Corpses buried in the jungle would not.

But how could he help them? The truck was too far away for him to catch up. And he couldn’t help Nina and Kit either; too many armed men around the helipad for him to stand a chance of even getting close.

The helipad . . .

Part of his mind had already subconsciously registered something wrong, and as the other chopper’s rotors began to turn he realised what. A Hind? That wasn’t unusual in itself, as the Russian flying tank had been sold all over the world . . . but this one bore the red-and-white roundel of Peru, not the Venezuelan tricolour. What was it doing here?

He dismissed the question when he saw something more important. On the far side of the base was a small motor pool. A soldier climbed into a Jeep.

His chance—

Eddie leapt down, breaking into a run parallel to the boundary fence. He couldn’t catch the truck – but if he was fast enough, he might be able to intercept the Jeep.

The Hind roared into the air and turned northwards. The Mil had been loaded, the forklift backing away to let its passengers, willing and otherwise, board. A flash of red: Nina being pushed inside.

He forced down a surge of anger and kept running. The soldier in the Jeep waved impatiently to another man. The deforested area was only about two hundred metres across – once the 4?4 set off, it wouldn’t take long to reach the gate.

A corner of the fence ahead. He swung round it, angling away from the base. Another glance—

The Jeep was on the move.

Shit! Could he catch it? It disappeared from view, blocked by trees, then reappeared. Closer than he had expected. The driver was in a hurry.

So was Eddie. He forced himself on, aware that one stumble on the uneven ground could cost the prisoners their lives. Dangling vines swatted at his face. His heart pounded, leg muscles on fire, but he couldn’t stop.

A scrape and clatter of metal – the gate being opened. He heard the clash of gears as the driver set off.

A shallow slope ahead. The muddy road at the bottom came into view through the undergrowth – as did the Jeep. Moving quickly.

Too quickly. Eddie knew he couldn’t reach it before it passed.

His chance was gone—

No!

He turned again, aiming ahead of the Jeep, and leapt up, grabbing a clutch of creepers hanging from a high tree. He swung down the slope, reaching the bottom of his arc, rising higher . . .