Empire of Gold (65 page)
Authors: Andy McDermott
Straining, Eddie reached down as far as he could, and slowly, painfully, pulled up his legs to bring Pachac into range of the knife. The Peruvian realised what he was about to do, and his face filled with helpless horror. ‘No! Don’t do it! Please!’
Jaw clenched, Eddie held the knife poised above the other man’s hand. ‘This is for what you did to Mac.’
Pachac tried again to find a foothold, failed. ‘Who? Who is Mac?’
‘My friend. You killed him.’
‘The government man?’
Disgust rose inside Eddie. The bastard didn’t even remember! He dug the knife’s point into the back of Pachac’s hand, making him gasp. ‘Grey hair! Beard! Know who I mean now, you fucking piece of shit?’
‘The old man?’ There was genuine confusion behind the fear. ‘But – I never touched him!’
‘No. You shot him. In the back.’ He slowly turned the knife. Blood ran from the wound, oozing down Pachac’s arm. ‘But I want to look you in the face . . . when I do
this
.’
this
.’
He stabbed the knife through the Peruvian’s hand and twisted it, hard. There was a sharp crack of bone. Pachac screamed in agony and terror as he lost his grip. He hung for a moment on his injured arm – then Eddie smashed his heel down and snapped two of his fingers. Pachac dropped away, Eddie watching coldly as he vanished into the clouds below. The scream continued after he disappeared, fading to nothing.
The tree shook violently with the release of weight. Eddie stabbed the knife back into the root, pulling himself up. Dirt and grit showered over him. At any moment, it would rip away from the cliff—
He lunged for a solid nub of rock to one side, clawing at the stone as the tree plunged into the valley. Branches slashed at him as the tree fell, trying to drag him down with it. He yelled, battling to keep his grip – then it was gone, tumbling down the cliff to be swallowed by the blankness beneath.
Eddie dangled, recovering his breath. His anger receded as the reality of his situation sank in. The road was sixty or seventy feet above. How the hell was he going to get up there? He scraped his boots against the rock, but only found enough purchase to support the tip of one foot. Bracing himself, he experimentally reached higher for a handhold. All his fingertips found was slick, treacherous wet mud caking every surface. Unclimbable.
‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘buggeration and f—’
Clank!
A noise above. Metal on stone. He looked up – and saw a hook scraping down the cliff towards him.
Nina! It had to be. He waited until the hook, at the end of a steel winch cable, was within reach, then grabbed it with one hand and tugged repeatedly to signal that he had a firm hold. It stopped. He locked his other hand over the first, then pushed himself out from the rockface with his feet.
The cable retracted. He rose with it, boots rasping over the rock. Before long he saw the expedition’s Nissan Patrol at the edge of the road – and a familiar face gazing anxiously down at him.
‘Eddie!’ Nina shouted. ‘Oh, thank God, thank God!’
‘Are you okay?’ he called.
Macy was at the 4×4’s winch, relief plain on her face. ‘Are
we
okay?’ she said in disbelief. ‘You just went over a cliff, and you’re worried about us? We didn’t even know if you were still down there!’
we
okay?’ she said in disbelief. ‘You just went over a cliff, and you’re worried about us? We didn’t even know if you were still down there!’
‘Then why’d you throw down the cable?’
‘Because I was sure that you were,’ said Nina, pulling the line to help him up the last few feet. He scrambled on to the muddy road, looked into her eyes . . . then, wordlessly, they embraced.
Macy eventually broke the silence. ‘What happened to Pachac?’
Eddie’s voice was flat. ‘He’s dead.’
Nina eased her hold and leaned back. ‘What about you? How . . . how are you feeling?’
It took a few seconds for him to provide an answer. ‘I’m okay.’ In truth, he didn’t know what he was feeling – or even if he felt anything at all. He had expected some sort of catharsis at Pachac’s death, a release of anger or satisfaction or a sense that justice had been done . . . but there was nothing, just an empty numbness.
‘You sure?’ There was concern in her voice.
‘Yeah.’ He looked away, at the Patrol. ‘Get the satphone. We need to call this in.’
The chatter of rotor blades echoed off the cliffs around the entrance to El Dorado. This time, though, the helicopters were not gunships but transport aircraft, both civil and military. Nina’s call to the Peruvian government, telling them what had happened – and what she had found – brought a rapid response, the first soldiers arriving to secure the area within an hour.
More troops soon followed, accompanied by civilian officials. Taking charge of the operation was Felipe Alvarado, Zender’s superior and head of the Ministry of Culture. In his late fifties, he had a weary, cynical face that suggested he’d seen it all – but his astounded expression when he emerged from the cave proved that that was not the case. ‘Dr Wilde!’ he cried. ‘This is amazing, incredible! El Dorado, real – and in my country!’
Nina was too exhausted to respond with similar enthusiasm. ‘Yeah. It’s a hell of a thing.’
‘The lost city of gold – it is almost too much to believe. I admit, when the IHA first asked permission to search for it, I did
not
believe it.’
not
believe it.’
‘Is that why you sent Zender instead of coming yourself?’
Alvarado’s gaze moved to the edge of the drained pool, where several forms lay beneath sheets: some of those killed inside the cave, recovered by the soldiers. ‘Oh, Diego,’ he said with a tinge of sadness. ‘He wanted to be in the news, for everyone to know his name. But not like this.’
‘Nobody wants to be remembered like this,’ Nina said.
‘No.’ He gazed at the bodies for a moment, then looked back at the cavern. Several soldiers were making their way down the collapsed wall, bearing more corpses on stretchers. The first was dressed in dirty and mismatched camouflage gear; one of the revolutionaries. ‘But something good has come from this,’ Alvarado continued. ‘Pachac and his butchers are dead. You have done my country a great favour by killing them.’
‘I’m sure my husband’ll be thrilled to hear that,’ said Nina bitterly, eyes fixed on another of the bodies being brought out.
Mac.
‘He should be,’ said Alvarado. ‘But I am sorry for the loss of your friends.’
‘Thank you.’
He was about to add something when an official called out to him. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, moving away to speak to his subordinate. On the way he passed Eddie, returning from having his injuries treated by a Peruvian army medic. The Englishman stopped when he saw Mac, watching as he was placed alongside the other corpses. A soldier prepared to pull a sheet over the unmoving figure.
‘No!’ Eddie snapped, hurrying over. ‘I’ll do it.’ He crouched and took hold of the sheet . . . but didn’t pull it up. Instead, he stared down at his friend’s still, pale face.
Nina joined him. Seconds passed, Eddie still holding the sheet in silence. Finally, she spoke. ‘Eddie?’
He twitched, as if surprised to hear her voice, then abruptly pulled the sheet over Mac’s head and stood. ‘What?’
‘I’m so sorry. Are . . . are you okay?’ She gently touched his arm.
He pulled away – only slightly, but enough to give her a shock of dismay, rejection. ‘No. I’m not.’
‘What can I do? Do you want anything?’
‘I just need to think.’ Face set and unreadable, he turned away and limped towards the nearby trees.
‘Eddie . . .’ Nina said quietly, her voice tailing off with the hopeless feeling that nothing she could say would help.
‘Nina?’ Macy, approaching with Kit and Osterhagen. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Not really,’ Nina replied, still watching Eddie’s retreat.
Macy’s lips quivered as she realised who was under the sheet. ‘Oh, that’s . . . Mr McCrimmon. Oh . . .’ Tears welled in her eyes.
Kit, looking equally stricken, put a hand on her shoulder. His sleeve had been cut away, the bullet wound to his arm bandaged. ‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ he said quietly, as much to himself as to her.
Osterhagen was also solemn as he regarded the bodies. ‘None of this should. So many deaths. All because of gold, the greed for gold.’
‘Five centuries, and nothing’s changed,’ Nina said sadly.
‘Maybe some day it will,’ said Kit.
‘I wish it could. But I doubt it. People never change.’ She looked back at her husband, seeing him standing at the edge of the clearing, head bowed. ‘I need to be with Eddie,’ she said, starting after him. But she had no idea what she could possibly say to comfort him.
A Peruvian official bustled past her, holding a satellite phone. ‘Mr Jindal! A call for you. From Interpol.’
Kit took the phone. ‘Yes, this is Jindal.’
‘This is Alexander Stikes,’ said the crisp English voice from the other end of the line. Kit froze. ‘I’d like to offer you a deal . . . ’
39
T
he panoramic windows of the villa in which the Peruvian government had housed the surviving explorers looked out across Lima from the city’s southeastern hills, but even though he was facing the view Eddie’s eyes weren’t taking in the spectacular burning sky of a Pacific sunset beyond the darkening capital. His focus was directed inwards.
he panoramic windows of the villa in which the Peruvian government had housed the surviving explorers looked out across Lima from the city’s southeastern hills, but even though he was facing the view Eddie’s eyes weren’t taking in the spectacular burning sky of a Pacific sunset beyond the darkening capital. His focus was directed inwards.
Kit hesitated at the door before steeling himself and entering. He stood beside Eddie’s chair, gazing in silence at the vista outside for a long moment, then finally summoned the courage to speak. ‘Eddie?’
Eddie didn’t seem to have registered his presence, until a fractional tilt of his head brought the Indian into his eyeline. ‘Eddie,’ Kit repeated, ‘I just wanted to say that . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Mac. It shouldn’t have happened.’
‘No. It shouldn’t.’ There was an odd, almost mechanical feel to Eddie’s eventual response, rusty gears slowly grinding to life.
‘If he hadn’t decided to destroy the helicopter, if he hadn’t been in that place at that time . . . it wouldn’t have. He’d still be alive. If he hadn’t gone after Stikes . . .’
‘Stikes.’ The word was a growl. ‘You shouldn’t talk to me about Stikes.’
A cold fear swept through Kit’s body. Eddie couldn’t possibly know about the phone call – could he? ‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re a cop. And I’m going to murder that fucker.’
He tried to conceal his relief. ‘I think this is one occasion where I would be willing to look the other way.’
Eddie nodded, then sank back into silence. Kit felt compelled to keep speaking. ‘He was a good man. Brave and honourable.’ He looked down at the floor, shaking his head.
Someone tentatively cleared their throat. Kit turned to see one of the villa’s staff, a pretty young maid, standing in the doorway holding a cordless telephone. ‘Excuse, please, Mr Jindal?’ she said. ‘Telephone for you.’
Kit glanced at Eddie, then went to her and took the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Jindal.’ It was Stikes. ‘Have you discussed my proposal with your superiors?’
He took a breath before answering. ‘Yes.’
‘And?’
Another look at Eddie, this time surreptitious, to make sure he wasn’t listening. But he appeared completely detached from the rest of the world. ‘Yes, they agree.’
‘Good. And did you tell them I want to meet one of their representatives in person? Not an errand boy like you.’
‘I did,’ Kit said through his teeth. ‘Someone is on the way.’
‘Excellent. In that case, there’s a town called San Bartolo, twenty miles south of Lima on the Panamerica Highway. About two miles past it is a pumping station for the gas pipeline, number fourteen. Meet me there in one hour.’
‘San Bartolo, station fourteen,’ Kit echoed. ‘All right, I’ll be there.’ He returned the handset to the maid. ‘Eddie, I have to meet some people from Interpol. I think we might have a lead on the statues. Will you be all right?’
The Englishman remained still, not even moving his eyes to look at him. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you later.’ He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. ‘Again, I’m so sorry about Mac. I’m sorry.’
Eddie didn’t reply.
Freshly showered and in clean clothes, Nina left her room and went downstairs to look for Eddie. Instead, she found Kit in the villa’s hall, donning a jacket. ‘Are you leaving?’ she asked.
‘I have to meet someone.’
‘Interpol?’
A conflicted look crossed his face. ‘Not exactly,’ he replied after a moment. ‘Look, don’t say anything to Eddie, but . . . it’s about Stikes. He’s offered to hand over the statues.’
‘What? You’re kidding!’
‘No, I think he really means it. He wants to make a deal – in exchange for immunity.’
Nina frowned. ‘I don’t think the Venezuelans will be thrilled about that.’
‘I’m not happy about it either. But nothing has been finalised. I’m on my way to meet . . . his representative, to see what his terms are. If Interpol accepts them, he’ll give us the statues.’
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