sports car had been batted aside like a toy. Another, harder impact – then they burst back out into the open, more pieces of brick and wood raining down through the roof.
Eddie swerved, trying to shake off the metal blocking his view. ‘Mac, I can’t see! What’s in front of us?’
Mac pulled himself up to look over the parapet, then hurriedly dropped down again. ‘Wall!’
Too late. Another eruption of shattered bricks as the armoured car ploughed through the obstacle, then tipped sharply downwards. The door blocking his view fell away, bushes and trees rushing at him in the V-100’s headlights. He yelled, pumping the brake and swinging the heavy vehicle between the trunks.
The Commando crashed back on to level ground in a shower of torn turf. They were on a long fairway, city lights visible in the distance beyond the green. ‘Macy!’ Eddie shouted. ‘Ask el Prez where to go! We’ve got a DVD that can fuck Callas up – where’s the best place to take it?’
Macy shook brick dust from her hair, then pulled herself out from under the Venezuelan president and spoke to him in Spanish. ‘He says we should take it to the state TV building,’ she told Eddie. ‘It’s in the same part of town as our hotel.’
‘I remember it,’ said Eddie. ‘What’s the quickest way?’
Another rapid discussion in Spanish. ‘He says to go north until we get off the golf course and he’ll direct us from there.’
The great dark mass of a mountain north of the city was an unmissable landmark. Eddie accelerated along the fairway, swerving to avoid a bunker.
‘Eddie, they’re coming down the hill!’ Nina shouted.
Mac hopped back up into the parapet. ‘Two Jeeps!’ The Tiuna that had departed earlier had caught up with Rojas’s vehicle, both 4?4s slithering on to the fairway in pursuit.
‘What about the armour?’ Eddie demanded.
‘Still at the top of the hill –
The V-300’s 90mm gun roared again.
Even though it only scored a glancing impact, the shell still delivered a punishing blow. The V-100 lurched violently, the force of the explosion almost smashing the suspension – had it been an unyielding road beneath the wheels rather than soft earth, it would have been crippled.
It still took damage, though. The hull buckled, rear windows shattering and the aft hatch bursting open, and shockwaves through the armour causing more than mere paint chips to spall away.
Coin-sized shards of shrapnel clanged through the cabin, one stabbing metal splinters into Nina’s shoulder as it shattered against the cabin wall, another punching a hole through the shin of Mac’s prosthetic leg.
A third hit Suarez.
The President screamed as the chunk of metal ripped a bloody inch-wide gash from his left forearm. Macy shrieked. ‘Keep hold of it!’ Nina ordered over her own pain. ‘Stop it from bleeding.’ With deep reluctance, Macy gripped the wound, blood oozing around her fingers.
Eddie regained control, looking back to check on the condition of his passengers – and his vehicle. A glance told him that everyone was still alive, but of more immediate concern was the rear hatch. It had opened about a foot before the deformation of the hull jammed it; more than enough for their pursuers to spray bullets into the cabin if they found the right firing angle.
Which they were trying to do. Rojas’s machine gun chattered again, rounds clonking off the armour.
‘Mac!’ Eddie yelled. ‘Get on that fifty and take out those fucking Jeeps!’
‘You know, my retirement’s been more dangerous than my career thanks to you!’ the Scot snapped as he climbed into the parapet once more. The .50-cal was mounted on a semicircular track running around one side of the opening; he pulled back a spring-loaded pin to free it, then slid it to the rear of the armoured pulpit. A round spanged off the protective plating; Mac ducked, but it was just a stray, Rojas concentrating his fire on the vulnerable hatch.
He looked over the top. The Tiunas were practically side by side, gaining fast. Further back, he saw the V- 300’s lights as it rolled down the slope.
Rojas released another burst, and Mac saw a man in the top hatch of the second 4?4 about to join in the attack. Both Tiunas were angling across the fairway, trying to shoot through the open door—
Mac swung the machine gun round and opened fire.
The flash and recoil from the thudding .50-cal made it almost impossible for him to aim accurately, but with this amount of firepower even a single hit would be horribly destructive – and he scored several as he hosed the Tiunas with thumb-sized bullets. Rojas had seen him aim the weapon, and yelled for his driver to brake and duck behind the other vehicle, which took the onslaught’s full force.
Rounds smashed through the engine block, meaning the Tiuna’s pursuit was already over, but another bullet punching through the windscreen, the driver’s chest, his seat, the leg of the standing soldier,
‘That’ll affect his handicap!’ Mac cried, hauling the gun towards his other target.
Rojas fired first. Mac ducked, a bullet singeing his grey hair. More rounds struck the armour, knocking dents into it with piercing clangs. The Scot fired blindly, but this time without success – and if he raised his head to find Rojas, he would get it blown off.
‘Slight problem,’ he told Eddie as he bent back down into the cabin.
