22
Lying behind the bushes, Eddie watched the soldiers
in the Clubhouse’s grounds with rising frustration and concern. The
sounds of fighting from the city were growing in intensity, so
Callas’s coup attempt was well under way – and seemed to be
succeeding. He could see Rojas listening to messages over a
walkie-talkie, and from his satisfied body language it appeared
they were what he wanted to hear.
Another squawk and
gabble of an incoming message. Rojas issued orders, some of his men
hurrying round the mansion. Eddie ducked, but they went past,
heading for the helipad. Rojas followed at a more relaxed pace,
talking in Spanish over the radio. Eddie couldn’t be certain, but
the voice on the other end sounded like Callas. The Venezuelan
paused to check the breaking news on the TV by the pool, then muted
the sound and carried on after the troops.
Eddie stayed low,
watching the soldiers as they reached the helipad, awaiting an
arrival. Callas himself, most likely, returning to his command
post.
His guess was soon
proved correct. The thunder of a helicopter overpowered the chatter
of gunfire in the city below, the aircraft sweeping in over the
golf course. A Hind – the one Eddie had seen at the base near
Paititi, repainted in Venezuelan colours. So why had Callas needed
it when he had control over the country’s own
gunships?
The answer came once
the helicopter settled on the pad. A man dressed in black combat
gear emerged. Blond hair, a Jericho glinting at his waist. Stikes.
Of course – Callas needed a gunship crew on whom he could rely one
hundred per cent. Even men who thought they were committed to the
cause might baulk at opening fire on their own people. So what had
they been doing?
More mercenaries
emerged, wearing balaclavas – then Callas himself, pushing another
man at gunpoint.
Eddie recognised him.
Tito Suarez.
‘Jesus . . . ’ he
whispered, impressed despite himself at the sheer balls of the
plan. They had kidnapped the President, probably right out of
Miraflores. And by using Stikes and his mercenaries, Callas had
eliminated the risk of any soldiers switching their allegiance when
challenged face to face by their leader, as had happened with the
capture of Hugo Chavez over a decade earlier.
Stikes donned his
beret and spoke to his masked men, who grabbed the struggling
Suarez and hauled him into the mansion. Rojas delivered a report to
his superior. Callas nodded, then issued orders. Rojas saluted and
relayed them over his radio, then turned and jogged back round the
building. The soldiers followed him.
The two men guarding
the corner of the house joined the group as it passed. Eddie’s
heart jumped. They were redeploying - with Suarez’s capture, Callas
probably wanted to secure a wider perimeter around the Clubhouse.
This could be his chance to get inside . . .
He watched and
waited. The main gates opened and a Tiuna drove out on to the
street, followed by a squad of soldiers. One of the armoured cars
started up with a diesel roar: the six-wheeled V-300, carving up
the grass as it made a wide turn and left the grounds.
Voices nearby. He
looked round, seeing Callas and Stikes walking past the swimming
pool. The general paused to lift the lid off a dish on a catering
trolley near the TV and pop a piece of food into his mouth. ‘You
want some?’ he asked Stikes.
The mercenary shook
his head. ‘Are you sure you want to set up roadblocks so far out
from the Clubhouse? If they were nearer, it would be a tighter
defence.’
‘I want to cover the
intersections,’ Callas replied. ‘Besides, now that the coup is
under way, I no longer care about upsetting the neighbours.’ He
replaced the lid, then continued with Stikes into the
house.
Eddie checked his
surroundings. The soldiers at the rear of the Clubhouse were still
looking outwards across the golf course, while those at its front
were grouped round the vehicles near the main gate. There was a
chance someone might glance back at the side of the house, but he
would have to take the risk . . .
He broke from cover
and ran across the lawn.
No shouts of alarm.
He hadn’t been seen – yet. The single door was almost directly
ahead, but he couldn’t just charge in - he had to make sure the
room beyond was empty. At the gate, a soldier looked
round—
And saw nothing. The
headlights of the parked Tiunas had wrecked his night
vision.
Eddie reached cover
and pressed against the wall. He drew his knife and went to the
door.
There was light
inside, but only dim. He peered through the window. A darkened
kitchen, the illumination coming through a half-open door at the
far end. He tried the handle. It turned. He slipped
inside.
Where would the
prisoners be kept? A cellar, most likely. He crept to a closed door
in the hope that it led to a lower floor, but instead found a
lounge with French windows opening on to the poolside. ‘Arse,’
Eddie muttered, realising he would have to search the whole house.
He went to the other door, seeing a hallway beyond.
He was about to go
through when he heard boots clumping on the polished floor. He
pulled back, watching through the crack as someone approached. One
of the mercenaries . . .
Eddie felt a shock of
recognition. Kevin Baine. He hadn’t seen the former SAS man for
over nine years. Stikes had obviously remembered him, though – and
recruited him.
Baine’s steps faded
as he rounded a corner. Eddie entered the hall, heading in the
opposite direction. An open door led back into the lounge, so he
ignored it, checking that the passage round a corner was empty
before proceeding.
A narrow staircase
went upwards. A closed door was at its foot. Cellar steps? He
reached for the handle—
The door
opened.
Eddie found himself
face to face – or rather, face to chest – with a huge black-clad
man. Another mercenary, a holstered pistol and a stun grenade on
his combat webbing. He looked up. Surprised eyes stared down at him
through the holes in the balaclava.
He drew back the
knife, about to stab the merc in the stomach—
The eyes widened in
recognition. ‘Little man!’ said a delighted Russian
voice.
Eddie arrested his
strike, jerking the blade out of sight behind his back. He knew the
voice, but couldn’t believe he was hearing it.
‘Maximov?’
The giant peeled off
the balaclava to reveal a bearded, heavily scarred face, the worst
injury a gnarled knot of tissue at the centre of his forehead.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Oleg Maximov, grinning at the
Englishman.
It was two years
since Eddie had last met the huge ex-Spetsnaz soldier, first as a
foe, later an uneasy ally during the search for Excalibur. He had
then been in the service of a Russian billionaire; that he was here
now suggested he had looked further afield for employment. ‘Didn’t
Stikes tell you I was coming?’ he said, desperately
improvising.
Maximov looked
puzzled. ‘No. When did you join company?’
He feigned
nonchalance. ‘Oh, I’ve known Stikes for years – we were in the SAS
together. I had sort of an open invitation to join 3S, but didn’t
get the chance to take it up until recently. I’ve been busy with
the IHA – plus getting married, stuff like that.’
‘You finally picked a
day? Congratulations!’ Maximov slammed a meaty hand down on Eddie’s
shoulder. ‘To the pretty redhead, da?
Hey, I saw her on TV. In the Sphinx. What is she doing
now?’
So Maximov didn’t
know that Nina was here? ‘Archaeological stuff. Kind of boring,
which is why I decided to see if old Stikesy had anything exciting
on the cards. Got to admit, regime change in Venezuela was more
than I was expecting!’
‘Me too,’ said
Maximov, nodding. ‘But job is job, money is money,
hey?’
‘I know what you
mean. Oh,’ he added, sensing an opportunity, ‘can you come with me
to talk to President Suarez? That’s why Stikes wanted me here –
I’ve, er, met him before, so I might be able to get him to tell me
the information Callas needs.’
He knew that the more
he elaborated on his story, the more danger there was of falling
into a hole – but he also knew that Maximov had not been hired for
his brainpower. The name-dropping seemed to have convinced the
Russian that he was here legitimately. ‘Okay,’ said the big man,
nodding.
‘So,’ Eddie said,
stepping back and ushering him into the hallway, ‘what’ve you been
doing since the business with Jack Mitchell?’
‘Mitchell?’ Maximov
growled as he headed back the way Eddie had come. ‘That little
shit, I should have crushed him. What happen to him,
anyway?’
‘He’s dead. Very,
very dead. Stabbed, electrocuted, drowned, in that
order.’
‘Ha! Good. I work a
lot in Africa recently. Always little wars, da?’
‘Do you know
Strutter?’ Eddie asked, gambling that the small world of the
mercenary might provide common ground - and a way to keep Maximov
distracted.
‘Strutter, yeah! A
zhópa, but I meet Stikes through him,
so not all bad.’ They passed the kitchen, the Russian going to
another door. ‘Okay, here.’
Eddie decided not to
feel too annoyed that he would have found the stairs to the cellar
immediately if he had turned right instead of left to begin with,
instead following Maximov down into the mansion’s bowels. His new
companion could have his uses, even if only as a human shield. He
turned the knife in his hand.
Maximov led the way
along a white-painted passage, his elbows brushing both walls, and
stopped at a door. ‘When did you meet Suarez?’ he asked as he
opened it.
‘Year or so back, at
some United Nations thing,’ Eddie said, taking in the room. Three
small cells had been installed, metal bars reaching from floor to
ceiling – and each was occupied. Suarez in the middle, Kit to one
side . . . and Nina lying on the floor at the other.
There was also a
guard, who stood and gave the two men a suspicious look. ‘Why are
you here?’ he asked.
‘To talk to him,’
said Maximov, pointing at Suarez. Then he saw Nina and reacted in
surprise. ‘Hey! It’s you!’ She in turn jumped up in
astonishment.
The soldier saw her
unexpected reaction. ‘What are—’
Eddie stepped behind
him and with a quick, deadly motion drove the knife deep into the
base of his skull.
The Venezuelan
collapsed instantly, the hilt buried in his neck. Eddie grabbed the
soldier’s AK-103 off his shoulder as he fell and pointed it at
Maximov. ‘Okay, drop your gun. And the grenade.’
‘Little man!’ said
Maximov, sounding shocked and even hurt by the sudden betrayal.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Rescuing my wife.’
He nodded towards Nina, then Kit. ‘And my friend.’
Suarez pushed his
face against the bars. ‘Y a mi?’ he
asked hopefully.
‘Nope, sorry, mate,’
said Eddie as Maximov reluctantly dropped his weapons to the
floor.
‘Oh.’ Now it was the
President’s turn to look offended.
‘Eddie, we have to
rescue him,’ Nina insisted. ‘And by the way: Eddie! Oh my God!’ She broke into a huge smile. ‘I
– I thought you were dead! How did you find us?’
‘Long story, and
it’ll have to wait.’ He nudged the soldier’s twitching body,
jingling his keys. ‘Okay, Max – let them out.’
Scowling, Maximov
took the keys and unlocked Nina’s cell. She rushed out to embrace
her husband, but he waved her back. ‘Get the gun,’ he told her.
‘Can’t have post-rescue sex until we’re actually
post-rescue.’
‘I wasn’t planning on
dropping my pants right here in the cells,’ she said as she picked
up the pistol. Maximov opened the other cells, eyeing a fire alarm
on one wall, but a wave of Eddie’s gun discouraged him from
activating it. ‘What about the others? Is Macy okay?’
‘Macy’s fine – she’s
waiting for us with Mac.’
‘What? Mac’s here
too?’
‘Yeah. I called for
some help. Left Osterhagen and Becker at a hospital down south –
hopefully Callas’s lot didn’t find them. Oscar’s dead, though. So’s
Loretta.’
The news muted Nina’s
joy at being released. Kit collected the stun grenade. ‘Eddie,
what’s happening outside? If they’ve kidnapped the President, I
assume things are not good.’
‘We’ve got a
full-blown military coup under way,’ Eddie told him, gesturing with
the AK for Maximov to enter a cell. He slammed the door behind the
furious Russian and locked it, then turned to Suarez. ‘Okay, Mr
Presidente – looks like you’re coming
with us, so where’s the best place for us to head
for?’
Suarez stared at him
in incomprehension. ‘Qué?’
Eddie looked to the
ceiling in dismay. ‘Oh, fucking great. He’s from
Barcelona!’
‘It’s your accent,’
Nina said testily. ‘I don’t think he’s spoken to many
Yorkshiremen.’ She faced the Venezuelan, talking slowly and
clearly. ‘Mr President, do you speak English?’
‘I speak, ah, ah . .
.’ He held his thumb and forefinger a short distance apart. ‘A
little, sí?’
‘Okay, we’re going to
get you out of here – where should we go?’
He nodded at the
door. ‘We go, yes, go!’
‘No, go where?’
‘Qué dijiste?’
‘I said – ugh!
Dammit, we need Macy.’
‘Let’s go and meet
her, then,’ said Eddie. ‘Nina, give Kit the gun – you take that
stun grenade, we might need it on the way out. Once we reach the
car, Macy can ask el Prez here where to go. If we can meet the
militia, he might be able to drum up some support against Callas.’
He started for the door.
Nina tugged his
sleeve. ‘Eddie, wait – we need to get something
first.’
He halted and pursed
his lips. ‘You’re going to say we need to pick up those fucking
statues, aren’t you?’
‘Well, ah, yeah . . .
but they’re not the main thing!’ she hastily clarified. ‘Callas and
Stikes met with a guy called de Quesada—’
‘De Quesada?’ echoed
Suarez with distaste, clearly familiar with the name.
‘Yeah, he’s a drug
lord, and he’s helping fund Callas’s coup. But de Quesada is
blackmailing Callas too. He’s got a video recording of something –
I don’t know what, I didn’t see, but it made Callas mad as hell.
And the disc is still here!’
‘If it was broadcast,
if the people of Venezuela had proof that Callas was working with
drug lords,’ Kit immediately realised, ‘it would cripple his
support.’
‘And Callas was
worried that it would force the US to intervene,’ Nina added. ‘We
have to get it.’
Eddie frowned, but
Kit was right. It could destroy Callas – if they lived to show it
to anyone. ‘Where’s the disc?’
‘A room upstairs,
overlooking the golf course.’
The small staircase
he had seen was at the rear of the house - and would also hopefully
see less foot traffic than the main stairs. ‘Okay, I know a way up
there. Kit, watch our backs.’
Maximov banged a fist
angrily against his cell door, rattling the bars. ‘I kill you for
this, little man! I thought you were good guy!’
‘I am,’ Eddie told
the giant. ‘Nothing personal, Max, but you’re on the wrong side.
You should find someone better than Stikes to work for.’ The
glowering Russian wasn’t impressed by his career advice. ‘Okay,
come on.’
They left the
makeshift prison, closing the thick wooden door behind them, and
moved quickly to the stairs. Eddie paused at the top. The hall was
empty. He went through, the others following.
Clung.
A deep metallic thump
from the cellars. And another. ‘Shit!’ said Eddie, realising what
it was. Maximov was trying to use his enormous strength to rip the
bars out of the floor.
‘Should I go back and
stop him?’ Kit asked, raising the gun.
Eddie closed the
door. The sound dropped, becoming barely audible. ‘No time. Let’s
just get that disc – and hope those bars were cemented in
properly!’ They hurried to the staircase and went up
it.
Nina recognised her
surroundings from earlier in the day. ‘Through there.’
AK-103 at the ready,
Eddie went to the door Nina had pointed out. He shoved it open and
darted through. Nobody there.
Nina and the others
entered, Eddie remaining on guard at the entrance. ‘Callas threw it
over here somewhere,’ she said, starting to search. Suarez,
meanwhile, hurried to the windows and looked out in dismay across
the city. The lights of Caracas glistened before him . . . as did
the ominous red glows of fires, speckling the vista like
sores.
‘Nina,’ said Kit,
from the other side of the room. ‘I’ve found the statues.’ He
picked up the case.
‘Great,’ Eddie said
impatiently, ‘but what about that disc?’
Nina dragged a potted
plant away from the wall to find the DVD behind it. ‘Here!’ she
cried, snatching it up. There was a scuff mark and several greasy
fingerprints, but it hadn’t been chipped or cracked by its
flight.
Kit opened the case.
‘Put it in here,’ he said. Nina found a place where it would be
cushioned by the foam without being scratched by the statues, then
closed the lid.
‘We ready?’ Eddie
demanded. Nina nodded. ‘Good, let’s go. Oi, Manuel!’ he called to
Suarez. ‘Vamanos!’
They hurried out,
Suarez complaining in Spanish – though whether about the state of
the city or the Englishman’s less than respectful attitude the
others weren’t sure. Eddie led the way back to the stairs. ‘Okay,’
he said as they made a quick descent, ‘we’ll go out past the pool
and climb over the wall to the next house.’ Suarez spoke again;
Eddie glanced back at him as he reached the bottom of the stairs –
and ran into someone.
‘Hey, watch—’ said
Baine – only to freeze in shock. ‘Chase?’
The collision had
knocked Eddie’s gun down across his stomach at an awkward angle;
not enough space between the two men for him to bring it round and
shoot. Instead he whipped it upwards against Baine’s chin with a
crack of teeth. Before Baine could recover, Eddie swung the AK and
hit him in the temple with its stock. He fell against the wall. A
boot to his stomach knocked him to the floor.
Eddie was about to
finish him off, but Nina and Suarez were already rushing for the
lounge. ‘Shit, wait!’ he hissed, kicking Baine in the head to make
sure he stayed down and starting after them—
A loud bang from deep
in the building. Metal falling on concrete. Maximov was
free.
A moment later, the
strident clamour of a bell filled the hallway. He had reached the
alarm.