23
Nina and Suarez stopped at the door to the pool. The
TV at the poolside showed a view from a building’s upper floor of
soldiers warily facing off against a crowd of civilians. ‘Which
way?’ Nina asked.
Eddie took the lead.
‘Over that wall,’ he said, pointing the way as he ran outside – to
find three soldiers pounding towards him, less than fifteen feet
away.
The Venezuelans were
surprised by his sudden appearance. He swept round the AK to cut
them down—
The gun fired only
once. A soldier tumbled into the pool, trailing blood, but the
other two brought up their own Kalashnikovs when they realised his
had jammed. The magazine had been jarred loose when he hit Baine,
only the already chambered round firing.
Beside him, Nina saw
the gunmen – and kicked the catering trolley. Plates flew as it
skittered across the poolside and hit the nearer of the soldiers.
The impact knocked him back against his partner. Both men toppled
into the pool, arms flailing almost comedically.
Eddie wasn’t
laughing, though. They still had their guns, and a Kalashnikov
could fire even after being submerged. He yanked his own rifle’s
charging handle. A round was wedged in the receiver, refusing to
come loose. ‘Kit!’ he shouted, but Suarez had frozen in the
doorway, blocking the Interpol agent inside.
The men surfaced,
spluttering angrily. One shook the water from his AK, swinging it
towards the group—
Eddie booted the
television into the pool.
There was a bang and
a sizzling crackle. The soldiers writhed and spasmed as power
surged through their bodies with heart-stopping force. After a
moment they fell still, bobbing in the electric-blue
water.
‘Don’t say it,’ Nina
warned Eddie.
‘What,
shoc—’
‘I said don’t.’
‘You’re no fun.’ He
finally managed to eject the stuck round, the next slotting into
the chamber with a reassuring clack.
Kit shoved past
Suarez. ‘Eddie, look out!’ More soldiers were running from the
helipad, alerted by the gunshot.
There was no way they
could reach and climb the wall before being shot. ‘Come on, round
the front!’ Eddie shouted, pushing the President in the right
direction. ‘Nina, give me that grenade!’
Stikes and Callas
rushed into the Clubhouse’s entrance hall, finding several soldiers
milling in confusion – and Maximov, barging them aside as he ran to
his employer. ‘Boss, boss!’ he called over the noise of the alarm.
‘The cells – it was Eddie Chase!’
‘What?’ Stikes couldn’t conceal his shock. Chase
was a resilient little bastard, but the idea that he could not only
have survived a plane crash, but then found his way to Caracas and
penetrated Callas’s headquarters, was almost too much to accept.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, yes! I know him
– he said he knew you!’
‘What about Suarez?’
Callas demanded.
‘He let him go!’
Callas’s eyes widened in dismay. ‘And the others too. He tricked
me!’
‘Not exactly the
hardest thing he’s done recently,’ Stikes growled. The big Russian
was a recent recruit to 3S – and, it seemed, the company could have
found better. ‘How long ago?’
‘Just a minute or
two. And boss, they said they had to find some . . . some disc, I
don’t know what.’
If Callas’s eyes had
been wide before, they were now practically bugging from their
sockets. ‘De Quesada’s DVD – it’s still upstairs! If they get it to
a TV station . . .’
Rojas ran in through
the front door, shouting urgently in Spanish. ‘Shots from the side
of the house,’ the general reported to Stikes. He started to issue
orders—
A piercing bang came
from outside, followed by screams.
‘Get in!’ Eddie
yelled, pointing at the armoured car in front of the house. A
soldier had been leaning through its open rear hatch, asking others
nearby what was happening – until the stun grenade tossed into the
middle of the group blasted their senses into
oblivion.
Eddie ran for the
V-100, unleashing a burst of fire at the guards near the gate to
force them into cover behind the parked Tiunas, then blew away a
soldier running through the mansion’s front door. He hurdled the
man who had fallen from the hatch and took up a defensive position
as Nina, Suarez and finally Kit piled into the
vehicle.
‘There’s a guy in
here!’ Nina shouted. The V-100’s driver was still in his seat,
hands clamped to his ears in agony.
Kit shoved the case
containing the statues and DVD under a narrow metal bench. ‘I’ll
get him.’ He and Suarez dragged the driver from his seat, then
bundled him past Nina and threw him out of the back.
Eddie shot another
soldier lurking in the doorway, then hopped into the V-100 and
hauled the heavy hatch shut. ‘I’ll drive,’ he said, making his way
to the front. He couldn’t help noticing that the armoured car had
an extremely vulnerable spot; part of its roof was completely open
so that a gunner could stand on a step to operate the machine gun.
A grenade tossed into the parapet would kill them all.
He would have to make
sure nobody got close enough to throw one. ‘Hold tight!’ he warned
as he dropped into the driver’s seat. He had driven similar
armoured vehicles in the past; the controls would be heavy, but
once it got moving it would be almost impossible for anyone – or
anything – to stop it.
The engine was
already running. He put it into gear and stepped on the
gas.
The Commando’s
acceleration wouldn’t break any records, the vehicle weighing over
nine tons. Eddie swung it towards the gate, peering through the
narrow slot of toughened glass that acted as a windscreen. The men
ahead had regrouped, taking up positions behind the
Tiunas.
Rifles ready. Flames
blossomed ahead as they opened fire.
Nina shrieked and
ducked as bullets clanged off the V-100’s sloping front and
ricocheted into the night. More impacts struck the APC’s rear as
soldiers poured out of the mansion and joined the attack. The noise
was like being trapped in a steel drum during a
hailstorm.
Despite this, Eddie
almost laughed. ‘Takes more than an AK to get through this much
armour.’
Kit looked through
one of the small rear windows as the V-100 picked up speed. ‘I
think they have something more!’
Stikes’s mercenaries
emerged from the Clubhouse, pushing the soldiers aside. Their M4s
were, if anything, less powerful than the Venezuelans’ AK-103s –
but the M203 grenade launchers beneath their barrels were another
matter entirely.
Eddie couldn’t see
what was happening to the rear, the V-100 lacking mirrors, but from
Kit’s alarm he could make an educated guess. Foot pressed hard on
the accelerator, he spun the wheel back and forth. More shots
grazed the APC’s flanks as it swung from side to side. The armour
might be able to withstand a grenade impact, the hull angled to
deflect incoming fire away - but he was more worried about the
wheels. They could still run on the reinforced tyres even if they
were punctured by bullets, but a grenade explosion would destroy
them.
Kit dropped flat.
‘Incoming!’
Eddie hunched down,
Nina and Suarez shielding their heads as an M203 round hit the back
of the armoured car – and spun away to explode on the lawn. The
hull had done its job.
But they might not
get lucky a second time. Eddie yanked the wheel hard over, the
Tiunas looming—
Another grenade hit,
this time solidly. The explosion rocked the vehicle, shockwaves
through the metal causing scabs of paint to spit across the cabin
like razor-sharp splinters. Kit cried out as one sliced the back of
his head, another catching Suarez’s hand. The V-100 rang like a
gong.
But it was now too
close to the soldiers ahead for the mercenaries to risk firing any
more grenades. Eddie raised his head as more bullets banged off the
forward armour – then the firing ceased as the Venezuelans realised
he wasn’t stopping and bolted. ‘Hang
on!’
The APC was barely
doing thirty miles an hour, but with nine tons of weight behind it
even the bulky Tiuna might as well have been a matchbox. The
V-100’s prow bowled the Jeep on to its roof before the armoured
vehicle crushed it beneath its huge wheels. The Commando’s
occupants were thrown about the cabin, Eddie clinging to the
steering wheel.
The gate was right
ahead—
If the Tiuna had been
a matchbox, the gate was made from toothpicks, bursting apart as
the V-100 ploughed through it. Eddie brought the vehicle into a
hard turn.
Lights flashed in a
driveway, and Mac’s rented Fiat came into view. Eddie braked to
meet it. ‘Open the side hatch, quick! It’s Mac and Macy – let ’em
in!’ He hopped from the seat as Nina and Kit levered the hatch
open. ‘Get in here!’
‘No, you get in
here!’ Mac yelled back at him.
Holding his bleeding
hand, Suarez looked through the rear window – and saw the second
Tiuna peel out of the ruined gate. ‘Vienen!’
‘Shit!’ Nina yelped,
glimpsing the approaching 4×4. ‘If that means “they’re coming”,
then yeah, they’re coming!’
‘Get fucking in here,
now!’ Eddie roared, before jumping back
into his seat.
By now, both the
Fiat’s occupants had seen the Tiuna and hurriedly evacuated their
vehicle, racing for the open hatch. ‘No need to be rude, Eddie,’
Mac chided as he pushed Macy inside, then clambered up behind
her.
Eddie set off as Kit
shut the hatch. ‘Sorry, but we’re in kind of a rush! Grab on to
something—’
A storm of bullets
struck hammer-blows against the armoured car’s rear, harder and
louder than before. The rear window crazed into a spiderweb with a
frightening crack.
Nina risked a look
through the damaged glass. Rojas was standing in the Tiuna’s top
hatch, blasting away with a pintle-mounted machine gun. The spray
of gunfire hit the Fiat, blowing out its windows and puckering the
bodywork with holes, and then the ruptured fuel tank caught fire
and exploded, flipping the flaming car on to its side.
Mac looked in chagrin
through a porthole. ‘There goes my damage deposit.’
‘That Hertz,’ said
Eddie.
More rounds hit the
V-100 – lower down. ‘He’s shooting at the tyres!’ Kit
warned.
A machine gun had a
much greater chance of chewing up the reinforced rubber. ‘Mac!’
Eddie called, looking over his shoulder. ‘There’s a fifty-cal up
there – get on it.’
Mac peered up through
the hole. The parapet was essentially a box of armour plate
eighteen inches high around its top. ‘It’s a little
exposed.’
‘We’ll be more
exposed if he knocks out a wheel and chucks in a
grenade!’
Mac grimaced and
grabbed a handrail to lift himself on to the step. ‘I’ll see what—
Eddie, look out!’
Eddie whipped back
round – to see the V-300 that had left the Clubhouse earlier
blocking the road ahead. Its turret turned to track the APC with
its main gun.
Nowhere to go, high
walls hemming them in on both sides . . .
He spun the wheel
regardless – and drove the V-100 through a wall.
The impact was far
more punishing than the collisions with the Tiuna or the gate. Only
Mac’s grip on the handrail prevented him from being flung against a
bulkhead. Behind him, Macy screamed as she was thrown to the floor,
Suarez landing on top of her. Smashed brickwork bounced off the
APC’s prow, fragments clattering into the cabin through the open
roof.
The dust cleared,
revealing another well-kept lawn around a mansion rivalling the
Clubhouse in extravagance. Beyond it, the hillside dropped away to
the golf course. ‘Mac, are they still following?’
Mac looked cautiously
over the parapet. ‘That Jeep’s coming through the hole in the wall
after us.’
‘What about the
armoured car?’
A crash from outside
gave him the answer. ‘It made its own hole,’ Mac reported – then,
with considerably more urgency: ‘Gun tracking!’
Another pull on the
wheel, Eddie turning the V-100 to present the smallest possible
target—
A loud boom from
behind, something searing past just inches from the Commando’s side
– and an explosion blew a hole in the mansion’s front wall as the
90mm shell detonated. Eddie swore. His vehicle could withstand
bullets, but a direct hit from a gun that size would blow it to
pieces.
Beside the house was
a garage, room for at least four cars inside. ‘Hang on!’ he
shouted. ‘Ramming speed!’
Everyone scrambled
for handholds as the armoured car thundered at the
garage—
The metal door folded
like cardboard as the V-100 hit it. Eddie caught the briefest
glimpse of a bright yellow Ferrari California before the crumpled
door rode up over the windscreen, the jolt of a collision telling
him that the 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!’
‘Shiiit!’ They were at the edge of the hill above
the golf course. Eddie stamped on the brake—
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 – shit! Incoming!’ He dropped
back into the cabin, bracing himself as Eddie swerved.
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,
his seat and the fuel tank hammered the
fact home in no uncertain manner. The 4×4 slewed off course, then
plunged nose first into a bunker and exploded, sending blazing
wreckage cartwheeling down to the next tee.
‘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.
‘Only one?’ Nina
hooted.
‘Nope, more than
that.’ Eddie saw the green coming up fast. Beyond the circle of
perfectly manicured turf were trees – then buildings. ‘We’re out of
course!’
The V-100 sliced
across the green, bounding over the rougher ground beyond as it
ripped up bushes. More shots hammered against the rear hatch. A
wooden fence disintegrated into splinters, and the APC was in a
garden behind a house. There was a driveway down one side of the
building; Eddie swerved for it, barging a Mercedes aside before
bringing the APC squealing on to a residential street.
Kit looked back at
the sound of another collision. The Tiuna shoved past the crumpled
Mercedes and skidded after them.
Quickly gaining. On a
paved road, it could reach its top speed, which was considerably
higher than that of the vehicle it was chasing. Rojas aimed his gun
at the damaged hatch. ‘Eddie, he’s right on us,’ the Indian
warned.
No way to outrun or
evade. Instead, Eddie braked hard. The V-100 screeched to a
standstill. The Tiuna’s driver was forced to swerve past
it.
Eddie saw the vehicle
overtake, Rojas clinging to the machine gun to avoid being thrown
off. ‘Mac, now! Get him!’
Mac tried to slide
the .50-cal back to its original position, and found that the pin
locking the gun in place had stuck. He turned the weapon on its
mount, but it only had a hundred and eighty degree firing arc. He
couldn’t bring it to bear.
The Tiuna made a
shrieking handbrake turn to point back at the stationary V-100.
Rojas righted himself and opened fire once more.
Mac hurriedly
retreated into the cabin. ‘I can’t bring it round, it’s
jammed!’
‘Eddie, that tank’s
back!’ Nina gasped. The V-300 crashed out of a driveway, scattering
shrubs and garbage cans.
Eddie made a
split-second decision and shoved the V-100 back into gear, putting
his foot to the floor. Rojas aimed at the armoured car’s slit-like
windscreen. More rounds thunked off the forward armour – and the
toughened glass began to craze.
The crazing became
cracks, cracks spreading and widening—
Eddie ducked as the
pane blew apart, glass chunks slashing at his face. Everyone
dropped as low as they could as the gunfire continued.
It suddenly wavered,
the stream of bullets sweeping across the V-100’s
front—
The Tiuna’s driver
had remembered what had happened to its sister vehicle at the
Clubhouse when confronted by a charging Commando and set off again,
jolting Rojas. Eddie popped his head up. The 4×4 was coming at him,
trying to swing past on one side.
He turned
hard—
The two vehicles hit
head on at a closing speed of over sixty miles an hour. The Tiuna
took the brunt of the collision, the vastly heavier V-100 flipping
it up over its wedge-shaped prow to smash down, inverted, on the
still moving APC’s roof. The .50-cal was crushed, its severed ammo
belt whipping down into the cabin like a brass snake.
Something else had
come through the hole. Rojas. He hung upside down from the wrecked
Tiuna’s top hatch, by some fluke having landed squarely on top of
the open parapet. Dazed, he tried to wriggle free – then his eyes
snapped into shocked focus as he realised he was looking directly
at Suarez.
The wounded President
stared back at him. For a moment everyone in the cabin was frozen .
. .
Then Rojas yanked his
pistol from its holster and pointed it at Suarez’s
head.