Empire of Gold

‘Watch her,’ Callas ordered one of the soldiers, who moved closer to Nina. The other closed the door behind Callas, Stikes and de Quesada as they went into the lounge. The reflections on the glass made it hard for Nina to see inside, but she could make out Callas putting the disc into a player and switching on the TV.

He watched it for less than a minute before whirling angrily on de Quesada. A brief argument, Callas becoming more furious by the moment, then the Venezuelan stormed back to the player, ejected the disc and hurled it across the room. Still seething, he threw the door open and returned to the balcony, clenching his fists round the handrail as he glared out across Caracas.

De Quesada followed. ‘If that became public, your new position would become very unstable.’ He finished his drink, crunching an ice cube between his teeth. ‘It might even give the Americans an excuse for regime change. However much oil you offer them, they are not going to tolerate a drug lord as president.’

‘I am not a drug lord!’ Callas spat.

‘But you are working with one, and there was the proof.’

‘That recording would also be damaging to you,’ Stikes pointed out.

‘A calculated risk. But,’ de Quesada went on, ‘it will be much easier if we just make sure it is never seen, eh? Accept my new deal. You will still get your percentage – and you know you would rather deal with me than a psychopath like Pachac.’

The general drew in a long breath before facing de Quesada. ‘Pachac is . . . unreliable, yes. Very well. You will have his territory. But if the video is ever seen . . . ’ He jabbed a threatening finger at the Colombian’s heart.

De Quesada simply smiled. ‘It will not be.’ He rattled the last couple of ice cubes in his glass. ‘Now, we should celebrate our new deal with a drink.’

‘Not for you, I’m afraid,’ Stikes said to Nina. He nodded to the soldiers. As they led her away, he added, in an overly casual way: ‘Oh, by the way – your husband.’

‘What about him?’ demanded Nina, heart sinking.

‘Dead.’ The word was delivered with a thin smirk. Nina felt as though she had been stung by the scorpion again, her throat clenching tight. ‘I must admit, he put up a good show. Even rescued your friends. But then their plane got shot down and exploded in the jungle. The end of the Chase, you might say.’

Fury and despair rose simultaneously inside her, the former narrowly gaining ascendance. She lunged at Stikes, but the soldiers caught her before she could reach him, twisting her arms behind her back. ‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ she snarled.

Stikes merely smirked again as she was dragged away.

20

Caracas baked under the afternoon sun, shimmering beneath a blanket of smog. The streets were clogged with traffic. More so than usual; there was a greater police and military presence than when the archaeological team had arrived four days earlier. Armoured vehicles rumbled through the city, soldiers and cops regarding the sweating Caraquenos with suspicion. The mistrust was mutual, everyone feeling the tension in the air.

Almost everyone. ‘Excuse me! Jeez,’ Macy sniped at a woman who had bumped into her and carried on without a word. ‘What was her problem?’

‘Same as ours, probably.’ Eddie nodded towards three policemen who had thrown a man against their car and were roughly searching him. ‘This’ll be part of Callas’s coup. Stir the shit, find an excuse to get the police and army on the streets. That way, they’re already in position when the real action starts.’

‘And what is the real action?’

‘Something to do with Stikes and that chopper. You don’t hire mercenaries and buy a gunship just for mopping-up work. They’re the key.’

The man was shoved into the police car, one of the cops gesturing threateningly at bystanders with a baton. ‘So what are we gonna do?’ Macy asked.

‘Find this Clubhouse place. That way, we find Nina and Kit, and probably Callas and Stikes as well. Maybe even stop them before they start.’

A military Jeep bullied its way between cars, armed soldiers glowering at drivers. Macy regarded them nervously. ‘How are we going to do that? They’ve got, like, hundreds of guys on their side. And they’ve all got guns. And we don’t.’

‘I don’t need a gun.’ They reached a crossroads, and saw the giant screen outside the television station. On it President Suarez, wearing militia uniform, delivered an impassioned speech. ‘What’s he saying?’

Macy listened to the booming audio. ‘That everything’s okay and there’s nothing to worry about, and not to listen to— Hey! He’s blaming America! Says CIA agents are trying to undermine the revolution. What a jerk! They’re not. Are they?’

‘The CIA messes with friendly countries,’ said Eddie. ‘Take a guess what they do in ones they don’t like.’ The traffic was almost at a standstill; he took Macy’s hand and hurried her across the street. ‘Okay, the hotel’s just up here.’

Coming back to the same hotel was a risk, but when he made his phone call in Puerto Ayacucho Eddie hadn’t known anywhere else he could be contacted. Besides, he hoped that Callas’s followers thought they were dead. They entered the lobby, getting disapproving looks for their less than pristine appearance. Eddie ignored them and went to reception. ‘Hi. Any messages for Eddie Chase?’

To his disappointment, and surprise, there were none. ‘Huh. Better find out what’s up,’ he said, leading Macy to the payphones. The last of the coins he had taken from the dead soldiers at the burial pit got him through to an operator to make a reverse-charge international call, and he soon got an answer.

‘Is that you, Eddie?’ said a familiar Scottish voice.

‘Yeah, Mac, it’s me,’ said Eddie, somewhere between relieved and impatient. ‘I’m at the hotel – I thought you