24
Eddie stomped on the brake. The V-100 screeched to a
stop, tossing its occupants forward – and sending the mangled Tiuna
sliding off its roof.
Rojas had just enough
time to scream before the 4×4 dragged him away with it, breaking
his back against the parapet – and slicing off his outstretched
arm. The vehicle crashed down in front of the APC, the severed limb
landing with a thump before Suarez. The President hesitated, then
plucked the gun from its dead fingers.
‘Okay, he’s
disarmed,’ said Eddie, restarting the Commando and flattening what
remained of the Tiuna and its passengers. ‘Nina, where’s that
tank?’
She searched for the
V-300. ‘Behind us!’ The six-wheeled armoured car was thundering up
the street in pursuit.
Eddie threw the APC
into a turn on to another road as the V-300 fired, the shell
shrieking past and blasting a crater out of the tarmac. Suarez
spoke urgently, Macy translating for Eddie. ‘He says to take the
next left – we’ve got to cross a bridge.’
Eddie swung the V-100
left at the next junction, the V-300 briefly coming back into view.
‘He’s still following,’ Nina warned.
‘Ask him which way
once we’re over this bridge,’ said Eddie, getting directions in
return. ‘Okay, we – bollocks!’ The bridge ahead was blocked, troops
manning barriers across it. A small crowd faced them, but the
soldiers’ weapons deterred them from advancing.
Mac looked into the
parapet. ‘We’ve lost the fifty.’
‘Just have to go
straight through, then.’ He examined the controls. ‘Does this thing
have a horn?’
‘I think they know
we’re coming,’ said Mac. The crowd hurriedly parted as the V-100
charged at them. Bottles and bricks thudded off its armoured hide.
‘Hrmm. Seems we’re not popular.’
‘This ought to change
their minds.’ Eddie aimed the APC directly at the barricade. The
soldiers fled as the hulking machine demolished it and swept across
the bridge. Cheers rose in its wake.
Suarez spoke, drawing
Macy into a brief argument. ‘He wants to put his head out the top
so everyone can see him,’ she complained.
‘Might be useful at
the right time,’ said Mac. ‘Not just yet, though.’
Nina looked back. The
crowd was running for the bridge, only to scatter before the
oncoming V-300. ‘It’s still coming!’
Eddie turned again to
keep out of the larger armoured vehicle’s line of fire. But they
were still a couple of miles from the TV station – and would almost
certainly encounter better-defended roadblocks along the
way.
At the Clubhouse,
Callas banged an angry fist on a table at another radio report.
‘They have crossed the river! This is insane! Why can’t we stop
them?’
‘How far are they
from this TV station?’ Stikes demanded.
‘Less than three
kilometres – and we still do not have control of it. The crowd
protecting it keeps growing.’
‘Then tell your men
to fire into the crowd.’
The general’s
expression went from rage to hesitancy. ‘If I don’t have popular
support, I will not be able to hold on to power – the army is not
strong enough to control the entire country by force.’ He pointed
at a television showing a live broadcast from the
government-controlled station – the stand-off between civilians and
military outside it. ‘That is going out across the country – across
the world. If my troops are seen
slaughtering unarmed civilians, I will lose.’
‘So make sure they’re
not seen doing it,’ said Stikes with growing impatience. ‘Destroy
the transmitter.’
‘It’s on the roof,’
Callas snapped back. ‘And before you suggest using tanks to destroy
it from the ground, they can’t get line of sight on it! There are
too many other buildings nearby.’
‘Then destroy it from
the air . . .’ Stikes began, before tailing off.
Callas saw his
calculating look. ‘What is it?’
‘A way to kill two
birds with one stone.’ He turned to Baine, who had a savage bruise
across his jaw and cheek. ‘Tell Gurov and Krikorian to get the Hind
ready for takeoff!’
Despite Eddie’s best
efforts, he couldn’t shake off the V-300. The heavily armed vehicle
was slowly but relentlessly gaining, its more experienced driver
extracting every morsel of speed from his vehicle as he chased the
smaller APC through Caracas. And the chaos in the city was not
helping; Eddie had several times been forced to slow or swerve to
avoid fleeing civilians, while the other vehicle ploughed on
without a care for collateral damage.
Suarez’s directions,
relayed through Macy, brought them on to an overpass bridging a
wider avenue below. Traffic on the lower road was at a standstill,
open doors where drivers had abandoned their vehicles showing that
the situation was far worse than Caracas’s usual
gridlock.
A roadblock ahead.
The soldiers had been warned about the stolen APC and were readying
weapons . . .
More vehicles emerged
from behind buildings.
Very large
vehicles.
‘Buggeration and
fuckery!’ Eddie gasped as a pair of T-72 tanks clattered to a stop
at the roadblock, chunks of torn asphalt spitting up from their
tracks. The Russian behemoths were dated compared to modern Western
armour, but there was a reason they had been in continuous
production for four decades: they were still tough and deadly.
Their turrets rotated, bringing their 125mm main guns to bear on
the approaching V-100.
And there was no way
to retreat. The V-300 reached the overpass, its own gun swinging
towards its target.
A glimpse of red and
white on the road below, a familiar logo on the side of a
stationary truck . . .
Eddie swerved the
V-100 towards the overpass’s low wall. ‘You’re probably getting
sick of me saying this, but really, really hang on!’
He aimed for the
trailer, bracing himself.
The V-100 smashed
through the wall and plunged towards the road below.
Everyone
screamed—
There was a colossal
crump of metal as the APC landed on the
trailer, nine tons of steel crushing it and blowing its contents
apart in an explosion of brown liquid and froth. The truck was a
Coca-Cola transporter, the trailer a forty-foot-long advertisement
for its cargo, tens of thousands of cans stacked to the ceiling.
The cans flattened and burst under the V-100’s immense weight –
but, with so many pallets on top of each other, each layer
cushioned the falling vehicle just a little bit more as it
dropped.
Even so, the impact
when the armoured car hit the floor was still shattering. The
trailer’s suspension collapsed, and the trailer itself sheared in
half behind the prime mover’s rear wheels. The unsupported end
slammed down, digging a foot-deep gouge in the road surface. On a
foaming carpet of squashed red and white aluminium, the V-100
slithered down the makeshift ramp until its wheels touched the
avenue.
Dazed, Eddie lifted
his head. ‘Wow. That actually worked.’ He put the APC back into
gear. ‘Mac, what’re those tanks doing?’
Mac peered through
the parapet as the V-100 ground out of the wreckage. One of the
T-72s appeared on the bridge, its turret tracking them, but its gun
couldn’t angle down far enough to lock on. ‘We’re too low for them
to shoot.’
‘What about the other
APC?’
Nina shouted in
alarm. ‘You’re not gonna like this!’
The V-300 burst
through the wall after them, intending to use the same trick to
soften its landing—
It landed on the back
of the crushed trailer with a colossal bang, flipping the front end
up like a see-saw. Thousands of Coke cans flew into the air, metal
confetti raining down on the tanks above. The first APC’s landing
had mashed the trailer flat, leaving nothing to absorb the impact
of its larger and heavier cousin. All six of the V-300’s wheels
were ripped from their axles, the turret jolting out of its mount
to clang down like an enormous hammer amidst a snowfall of
cans.
Eddie looked back at
his shaken passengers. ‘Well, that’s them sorted, so cheer up! Have
a Coke and a smile.’
Macy regarded him
woozily. ‘Only if they have Diet.’
‘Eddie, over there,’
said Mac, pointing at an exit.
The Englishman made
the turn, barging cars out of his path. The T-72’s gun followed it,
but still couldn’t angle low enough to take a shot. ‘Macy, I need
directions.’
Suarez gave Macy
instructions. She relayed them, then added, ‘He says it’s less than
two kilometres to the TV station.’
Just over a mile.
Eddie recognised some of the taller buildings ahead. People were
still running through the streets, but there was no immediate sign
of the military. They would have to break through the troops
attempting to take the television station and the civilians and militia defending it, but
with Suarez’s presence the latter would be easy. They might
actually make it!
A basso rumble of
thudding blades from above—
The road ahead
exploded, sending a car barrelling through a store’s windows.
Rubble showered the V-100.
Eddie knew the cause.
Stikes’s Hind.
Stikes squinted into
the wind as he looked down from the gunship’s open hatch. The
stolen APC had just made a desperate turn to avoid the craters torn
from the asphalt by the Hind’s rockets. Krikorian fired again,
another two S-8 missiles streaking from their pod on the stub wing,
but these missed by a wider margin, a van blowing apart in a sheet
of flame. Panicked people scattered.
‘Did you get them?’
demanded Callas, strapped firmly into the seat beside him. Baine,
Maximov and the other mercenaries craned their necks to watch
events below.
Stikes shook his
head, shouting ‘You’re too high!’ into his headset. The rockets
weren’t guided, relying on the gunner’s skill to fire them when the
pod was pointing directly at the target. ‘Go lower and line up
properly.’
‘We’re already too
low!’ protested Gurov from the cockpit. ‘We could hit a power line
or a building.’
‘I hired you because
you claimed to be good enough to avoid that,’ Stikes said
scathingly. Nevertheless, he saw the Russian’s point; they weren’t
far above the rooftops, and Caracas had enough high-rises to turn
the sky into an aerial maze. ‘Krikorian, use the cannon,’ he
ordered instead.
In the forward
cockpit, Krikorian grinned and switched weapons, the targeting
cursor flashing up in his helmet sights.
He brought it over
the fleeing vehicle, then pulled the trigger.
Eddie swerved the
V-100 to evade further rocket fire. But none came – maybe the Hind
couldn’t get a lock amongst all the buildings—
That hope was
shattered a moment later, along with a chunk of the Commando’s
armour, as a stream of 12.7mm cannon fire hammered the vehicle’s
rear. Nina screamed and dived away from the damaged hatch as metal
fragments spat into the cabin. More scabs of steel peppered the
APC’s occupants, dents appearing in the roof as round after round
slammed down.
If any came through
the open parapet . . .
Eddie turned sharply
at a corner, not going round the building on it, but through it.
The V-100 demolished the shop’s frontage, scattering shelves and
shoes before bursting out of the other side.
Above, Stikes saw the
armoured car’s destructive shortcut. ‘Must be Chase driving,’ he
said. ‘Gurov, follow them.’
Despite the danger,
Mac looked up through the parapet to find the new threat. The Hind
roared into sight. ‘He’s coming!’
Eddie sent the V-100
lurching across the street as the gunship opened fire again.
Everyone had retreated from the rear hatch, and with good reason:
the buckled door juddered violently as more bullets struck it –
then with a piercing screech and a spray of sparks it ripped loose
and clanged along the road behind them.
The onslaught
continued, weaving along the hull towards the open
parapet—
A wall dead ahead.
Eddie didn’t brake – instead he drove the APC straight into
it.
Mac ducked as more
debris and clouds of plaster dust showered through the open roof.
Outside, the orange glow of sodium streetlights was replaced by the
off-white of fluorescent tubes as the V-100 ploughed through an
office. Desks were crushed under the APC’s wheels, a couple of late
workers who had stayed inside when the violence started running for
cover.
He saw an exterior
door in the far wall and aimed for it. Another huge crash, and they
were back in the night air, the wind quickly sweeping the whirling
dust out through the gaping rear hatch.
Mac irritably tried
to brush himself down. ‘Another suit ruined. I should start
charging you for my expenses.’
‘We’ll pay for the
dry-cleaning,’ said Eddie. He recognised a skyscraper ahead as
being close to their hotel – and the television station. ‘We’re not
far off. Get ready to run when we get there.’
‘If we get there,’ Nina said. The Hind came back
into view, descending towards them. ‘The chopper’s
coming!’
Eddie turned into the
first street he came to, the V-100 demolishing a payphone as it
rode over the corner of the sidewalk. They were out of the Hind’s
sight, but that wouldn’t last long. Ahead was a wider, tree-lined
boulevard – with people running in both directions, some trying to
escape whatever was happening further along the avenue, others
angrily racing towards it. Some jeered at the armoured car as it
rumbled towards them.
More quickly joined
in. ‘Shit, they’re not moving!’ Eddie gasped. The crowd was forming
a human blockade, trying to stop the military vehicle from reaching
the main road. He braked, knowing he could hardly mow them down –
but also that the gunship was closing with every
second.
He looked at Suarez.
‘Macy, tell el Presidente to get his
arse up in the turret!’
‘What?’ said Macy,
confused.
‘If he wants to make
a speech to his people, now’s the time - they’re blocking the way!’
Stones clattered off the APC’s prow.
‘Let’s just hope
they’re all on his side,’ said Kit as Macy hurriedly passed on
Eddie’s instructions.
Still clutching his
bloodied arm, Suarez stood. ‘I talk to them,’ he said.
Over the crowd’s
shouts and the clonks of thrown stones, Nina heard the Hind’s rotor
thrum. ‘He’d better make it a really short speech!’
A couple more rocks
clanged from the parapet as Suarez emerged – then the barrage
abruptly stopped. Even dishevelled and covered in dust, he was
still one of the most recognisable people in the country. His name
quickly spread through the crowd, first in shock and disbelief,
then excitement.
Macy translating for
the benefit of the armoured car’s occupants, Suarez’s
well-practised orator’s voice boomed over the V-100’s idling
rumble. ‘People of Venezuela, my friends! Yes, it is I, your
president!’ He paused to take in the cheers – and a couple of boos,
which were quickly silenced by kicks and punches. ‘Earlier tonight,
I was kidnapped by traitors and murderers, who want to take power
for themselves. But I escaped! I am free, I am here, and I need
your help to fight back!’
The rotor noise grew
louder. Nina made a frantic ‘wind it up’ gesture at Macy, who
tugged the President’s sleeve and hissed at him to talk
faster.
Suarez took the hint.
‘I need to get to the television station,’ he said, pointing down
the boulevard, ‘to expose these traitors and tell the country that
I am safe, and I am! Still! President!’
Another, louder cheer rose from the crowd. ‘First we retake the TV
station, then we retake our country!’
A great roar told
those in the APC that he had convinced the throng to help. ‘He’s
bloody done it,’ said Eddie, almost surprised, as people cleared a
path.
‘Yeah, but he’s left
it too late!’ Nina cried. The gunship’s roar rose as it closed in –
and shot overhead, disappearing again behind another building. The
pilot had been aiming to intercept the APC further ahead, expecting
them still to be moving, and had been caught out by its
non-appearance.
‘They’ve lost us!’
cried Kit.
‘Not for long,’ Eddie
said grimly as he turned on to the boulevard. Ahead, he saw the
television station’s jumbotron screen. It showed a view of the
street from one of the building’s upper windows, which ironically
gave him a better idea of what was going on than he could get
through the V-100’s narrow windows. The TV station was protected by
a human ring of protesters and militia, facing off against soldiers
backed by numerous Jeeps and Tiunas. The arrival of more people
coming to join the studio’s defence meant that the soldiers were
caught between two hostile groups: an almost certain flashpoint for
violence.
And the spark had
just arrived. ‘Get him back inside before some sniper blows his
fucking head off,’ he told Macy. Now that Suarez was here, a
confrontation was practically inevitable.
Macy pulled the
President into the cabin. Mac took his place, searching for the
Hind. The helicopter had turned above the boulevard, the image on
the big screen changing as the cameraman tracked it. He jumped back
down. ‘Chopper’s coming straight at us!’
The crowd reacted in
confusion, not sure what to make of the aircraft. Clarification
rapidly came as it fired two rockets, which exploded short of the
APC and sent bodies and pieces of bodies spinning into the air.
Eddie flinched. ‘Jesus!’
The survivors broke
away in panic, people trampling each other as they tried to escape
the battle. Taking it as a signal, the soldiers opened fire into
the crowd. The television camera zoomed in to record the
carnage.
The Hind fired again,
this time with its gun. Tracer lines seared down at the V-100,
blasting off more chunks of armour. Eddie swerved as he accelerated
towards the line of troops, the bullet hits stitching a new line
down the APC’s left flank—
Blam!
A deeper detonation
shook the vehicle, the steering wheel jerking in his hands. The
armoured car veered to one side. One of the huge tyres had finally
succumbed to the assault and blown out. Its reinforced structure
was just about holding it together – but every revolution was
shredding it, and total failure was inevitable.
‘We’re gonna crash!’
he yelled—
The tyre
disintegrated, pitching the wheel down on its steel run-flat insert
– which had also been damaged by the gunfire. The hub sheared away
from the axle.
Unbalanced, the V-100
toppled heavily on its side. It ground along the road in a huge
shower of sparks, narrowly missing a fleeing group of civilians,
then continued towards the soldiers.
The troops also ran
from the sliding slab of steel – and the fusillade of fire spraying
down from the Hind. Then the blaze stopped as the gunship passed
overhead. The APC crashed into one of the Tiunas, bowling the
military 4×4 over before finally coming to a stop.
For a moment,
everything was unnaturally still, people on both sides paralysed by
shock. Even the gunfire had ceased. The only thing moving was the
Hind, which increased power and gained height to turn for another
pass.
Then a figure crawled
from the overturned APC. Suarez.
The civilians and
militia saw him first, immediately surrounding the armoured car to
protect him. The soldiers held their fire, unsure what was going on
and waiting for orders.
More people emerged
from the wrecked V-100. Kit flopped out of the rear hatch, Macy
following Suarez from the parapet. Hands lifted them up; anyone who
had helped rescue the President would get the same protection as
their leader. Next out of the top hatch was Mac, crawling, one
trouser leg dragging limply behind him – the straps securing his
artificial leg had broken in the crash, the prosthesis still in the
cabin.
He was followed by
Eddie. ‘Evening,’ he said blearily to the two men who picked him
up, wincing as he realised his forehead was bleeding from a deep
cut. He looked for his friends. All were in similarly beaten
states.
Where was
Nina?
He shook off the
supporting hands and staggered to the APC’s mangled rear to find
Kit, a palm pressed against his bloodied head. ‘Where’s Nina?’ he
asked the Interpol officer.
‘I – I thought she
was behind me.’
Eddie pushed past
him. ‘Nina!’ he shouted as he looked through the hatch, fearing
what he might see . . .
A hand held up the
case containing the statues. ‘Hold this, will you?’
‘Oh, for Christ’s
sake,’ Eddie grumbled as he took it. Nina clambered out, her
clothes ripped and smeared with blood from several cuts. ‘We’re in
the middle of a fucking warzone, and you still make me carry stuff for you!’
She gave him a pained
but genuine smile. ‘Love you too, honey.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He
gave her back the case and pulled her to the throng surrounding
Suarez. The Hind was coming back. ‘Macy, we’ve got to get into that
TV station now.’
Macy passed on the
message. Suarez nodded, then exhorted the crowd to come with him,
rousing cheers and yells of ‘Viva Tito! Viva
el Presidente!’ Their leader at their centre, his followers
moved en masse towards the building, Nina, Macy and Kit going with
him.
‘I think I’ll stay
here,’ said Mac, sitting back against the wrecked V-100. He looked
morosely at his left leg. ‘A hopping man’s not much use in a
situation like this.’
‘You still kicked
arse even with only one leg,’ Eddie assured him. ‘See you
soon.’
‘Fight to the end,
Eddie.’
‘Fight to the end.’
He shared a look of brotherhood with the older man, then pushed
through the mass to join Nina.
‘They’re out of the
car,’ Stikes told Callas. ‘Krikorian, use the rockets, take out
everybody within fifty metres—’
‘No!’ the general cut
in. ‘If we do that, it will turn the people against me – even some
of my soldiers.’
‘In that case,’ said
the mercenary commander through his teeth, ‘we should destroy the
TV station, and then take out the
crowd.’
Callas shook his
head. ‘No. Land this thing. I will take command of my forces from
the ground. We can still capture Suarez – then I can make him turn
power over to me legally. On television, in front of the whole
world. No one will be able to challenge me.’
With barely contained
contempt, Stikes said, ‘As you wish. We’ll circle to give you fire
support if you need it.’ Callas nodded impatiently. ‘Okay, Gurov,
find us a place to touch down.’
Nina looked back in
dreadful anticipation, expecting the Hind to attack, and was
startled to see it instead moving in for a landing. ‘What’s he
doing?’
‘Callas must want to
finish us off personally,’ Eddie replied. ‘Macy!’ he shouted. ‘Tell
him to move faster!’
She did so. Suarez
boomed out more orders, and the multitude ahead parted to clear a
path to the studio entrance. The big screen above showed the scene
from an elevated angle, the movement looking almost like a zip
being teasingly unfastened.
The soldiers could
see what was happening too. ‘Stay close,’ Eddie warned Nina as he
pushed up behind Suarez.
The Hind landed,
rotors still whirling ready for a quick takeoff as Callas jumped
out. Soldiers ran to meet him. He jabbed a hand towards the
studios, ordering them to move in and take the building – and
Suarez.
Alive if possible . .
. dead if necessary.
Stikes watched Callas
head away with his troops, then turned to Maximov. ‘You get out
too.’
The giant Russian
stared back, bewildered. ‘Boss? What do you mean?’
‘I mean I don’t
employ idiots. This is all your fault – if you hadn’t let Chase
trick you, Suarez wouldn’t have escaped. You’re fired. Get
out.’
‘But—’
Baine pointed his M4
at Maximov and flicked off the safety. ‘You heard him. On yer
bike.’
Maximov’s scarred
face tightened angrily, but he unfastened his seatbelt and squeezed
out of the cabin. ‘Zhópa,’ he growled.
‘What am I supposed to do now?’
‘I think we can rule
out a career in rocket science,’ said Stikes with a mocking smile.
‘Gurov, take us up.’
The Hind left the
ground, blasting Maximov with dust. He shook an angry fist at the
departing chopper, then looked round. The soldiers nearby regarded
him with suspicion. The Russian hesitated, then turned the other
way and hurried along the boulevard, disappearing into the
approaching crowd.
The group was almost
at the entrance. Nina saw the big screen tracking their approach.
The shouts of Suarez’s name had become almost a ritual chant. The
last clump of people in front of the building pushed back to make
way for them—
Someone stumbled,
almost knocking her over. The case was wrenched from her grip as
the man fell. She tried to go back for it, but the crowd swept her
along like driftwood. ‘Eddie! The case!’ she cried, but she had
lost sight of it . . .
Kit held it up. He
shoved past the fallen man to her. ‘I think you dropped this,’ he
said. ‘We don’t want to lose the statues after everything we’ve
been through.’
‘Or the disc,’ she
added as he handed the case back to her.
He seemed almost to
have forgotten about it. ‘Or the disc, yes!’
They reached the
doors. They opened, station employees hurriedly pulling away their
makeshift barricades of desks and vending machines. Eddie looked
back as they entered. The soldiers were advancing. No shots had
been fired . . . yet. But the two opposing forces would meet in
seconds.
Clutching the case,
Nina pushed through the doors behind Suarez. There were about
twenty people in the lobby. ‘Can anyone speak English?’ she
called.
‘I can,’ said a
middle-aged man in a yellow tie. He did a double-take. ‘Are you
Nina Wilde?’
‘Yeah, I am – but
never mind that!’ She held up the case. ‘I’ve got a DVD in here –
there’s a recording on it that’ll destroy General Callas. You’ve
got to get it on the air as soon as you can!’
Shots cracked
outside, people screaming. ‘Shut the doors!’ Eddie
yelled.
Suarez joined Nina,
adding his own instructions as she took out the DVD. ‘How long will
it take you to start broadcasting?’ she asked.
‘Two minutes, less,’
said the man. ‘What is on it?’
Nina shrugged
helplessly. ‘I dunno – just something really bad for
Callas.’
He looked uncertain,
then took the disc and ran for a set of double doors. Suarez
followed as the staff restored the blockade.
There were several
large plasma screens in the lobby, all showing the station’s
current output: a view of the street outside. Eddie joined Nina and
watched, seeing a phalanx of soldiers driving through the crowd,
clubbing them with their rifle butts. The protesters pushed back,
throwing stones and garbage.
More shots. Muzzle
flashes flickered across the screens, people falling dead to the
ground. Nina gasped and clutched Eddie’s hand. Macy put a hand to
her mouth in horror, looking away. Some of those nearest the
soldiers tried to retreat, but the weight of people behind them
left them with nowhere to go. Others, trapped, threw themselves at
the troops, armed with nothing more than their fists and feet. They
were brutally battered to the ground as other soldiers fired into
the mob.
One screen briefly
showed a test pattern before switching to a studio. The image
jerked about before the camera operator finally fixed on a chair.
Someone ran up to it, waving – then Suarez appeared. He took the
seat, holding his wounded arm with the blood clearly visible. The
camera tipped up as if to frame it out, but Suarez shook his head.
The picture tilted back, making sure the injury the President had
sustained – and seemingly shaken off – was in plain view. Even in a
crisis, Suarez still knew the value of creating an iconic
image.
Nina looked at
another screen showing the fighting outside. The soldiers were much
closer. ‘This barricade won’t keep them out, will it?’
Eddie shook his head.
‘Just hope whatever’s on that DVD does the trick.’
Suarez started to
speak. All but one of the screens changed to show him, the
broadcast going out live to the country. His voice echoed from the
loudspeakers outside. Macy gave a running translation, despite her
nervous glances at the doors. ‘People of Venezuela, today has been
a dark day for our country. Traitors have attacked Miraflores, and
tried to kill me.’ He held up his injured arm. ‘A man I thought was
a friend, Salbatore Callas, led this revolt . . . funded by
criminals and drug lords. I have the proof – and now I will show it
to you.’
Suarez then spoke in
English. ‘Dr Nina Wilde . . . I hope you are right.’
‘Oh, great,’ said
Nina. ‘Now if it turns out to be Callas’s boudoir tapes,
I get the blame!’
The president
gestured to someone off-camera. The image changed.
Nina recognised the
Clubhouse balcony where she had met de Quesada. The drug lord was
seated at the very edge of the picture, almost out of shot and
distorted by the fisheye effect of a wide-angle lens; the video had
been shot on a concealed camera amongst his belongings. Callas,
however, was almost dead centre, instantly recognisable in his
uniform.
De Quesada had
apparently edited the raw footage down to the most incriminating
highlights. Again, Macy translated. ‘So, just to be perfectly clear
about our deal,’ she said as de Quesada spoke, ‘in return for
twenty per cent of the value of my drugs that cross Venezuela, you
will give them completely unrestricted passage from the Colombian
border to the ports where they are shipping to America and Europe.
Yes?’
‘Yes, agreed,’ said
Callas.
‘And what about the
DEA? If you take power from Suarez—’
‘When I take power.’
‘When you take
power,’ de Quesada corrected himself, ‘you will not let them back
into your country?’
Callas smiled. ‘I
only want the Americans’ money, not their policemen.’
A cut, the Colombian
leaning forward in his seat. ‘And what about Venezuelan drug policy
under your rule?’ he asked. ‘It’s not a big market, but it’s still
worth millions of dollars a year. Since I’m helping you, I don’t
want to have my . . . subcontractors being arrested.’
‘Your dealers will
have immunity,’ said Callas, though with evident distaste.
‘Providing they keep a low profile.’
‘They will be very
discreet, I assure you.’ De Quesada smiled again, then stood. ‘So,’
he said, extending his right hand, ‘we have a deal?’
Callas shook it. ‘We
have a deal.’
‘Thank
you.’
The screens went
black, then Suarez returned, looking off to one side at a monitor
and seeming as astounded by what he had just seen as those in the
lobby. But Nina was more interested in the one TV still showing
what was happening outside. ‘Eddie, look!’
The soldiers were
staring up at the big screen beneath the cameraman’s vantage point.
The protesters were doing the same, everyone’s attention captured
by the broadcast. The camera zoomed in on the troops. Confusion was
clear on their upturned faces . . . quickly turning to shock and
outrage.
Eddie watched as the
new emotions rippled through Callas’s forces. ‘This should be
interesting . . . ’
Callas, standing with
a group of his commanders amongst the military vehicles, struggled
to conceal his dismay as Suarez returned to the giant screen. Part
of him knew that the game was over; the incriminating recording had
just been broadcast to the entire country, and more worryingly to
his forces outside the television station. While he was using
carefully chosen corrupt men to ensure that narcotics traffic
across the Orinoco followed his rules, he knew that the vast
majority of Venezuela’s soldiers despised the drug
lords.
But another part
refused to give up. He had come so close! And Suarez was inside the
building. He could still be captured, some fairy tale about the
recording being faked with computer graphics and a vocal
impersonator concocted. ‘Well?’ he snapped. ‘What are you waiting
for? We’ll take the building – I want Suarez to pay for these
lies!’
A young captain faced
him. ‘General, was that – real?’
‘Of course it wasn’t
real!’ But Callas could see that doubt had taken root. He decided
that sheer volume was the best way to overcome it. ‘You idiots!
This is exactly what Suarez wants, for you to think I’m in league
with drug lords.’
‘But that was the
Clubhouse, I recognised it.’ Other men nearby voiced
agreement.
‘Never mind that.’ He
jabbed an angry finger at the studios. ‘I want Suarez captured,
now!’ Nobody moved. ‘Do what I tell
you!’
Other soldiers closed
in, faces dark, betrayed. Another officer spoke. ‘We want an
explanation, general. Did you really make a deal with some
Colombian so he could sell drugs to our children?’
‘Get back,’ Callas
warned. The advance continued, more troops surrounding him. ‘I’m
warning you, do as I say!’
‘Get him,’ growled
the captain.
Several men lunged at
Callas. He grabbed for his sidearm, but they pinned his arms behind
his back. ‘You bastards!’ he snarled. ‘Suarez will wreck the entire
country – I’m its only hope! Everything I do is for the good of
Venezuela!’
The captain stood
before him, lips tight. ‘Let’s find out who is telling the truth.’
He nodded to the men holding the general. ‘Bring him.’
Stikes observed the
scene below through binoculars as the Hind continued its orbit.
‘Looks as though we’re out of pocket on this job, boys,’ he said
coldly as he watched Callas being frogmarched through the crowd.
‘Gurov, get us out of here.’
The gunship changed
course, sweeping away into the darkness over the city.
‘It’s Callas!’ Nina
said as the cameraman zoomed in on the man being forced towards the
building. ‘They’ve arrested him!’
‘We’ll see,’ said
Eddie, more wary. ‘It might be a trap.’ But the gunfire had
stopped, and the soldiers were retreating to leave a space outside
the entrance. The two sides genuinely seemed in a state of uneasy
truce.
Suarez hurried into
the lobby, followed by the man in the yellow tie, now powering up a
professional video camera. The President ordered that the
barricades be moved from the doors.
‘You sure that’s a
good idea?’ Macy asked him.
‘I want to see him
face to face,’ came the reply. ‘And the people have to see that I
am still in charge.’ Then he addressed the little group of foreign
visitors in English. ‘I have not said thank you – you saved my
life. You saved my country. Thank you.’ He added something in
Spanish, then strode to the doors as the blockade was
cleared.
‘What did he say?’
asked Kit.
‘That we’re heroes of
the socialist revolution, and we’ll all get medals,’ Macy told him.
She grimaced. ‘That’s not something I’m gonna be wearing around
Miami.’
‘I can see it
wouldn’t be too popular,’ said Nina, amused.
Eddie huffed. ‘Can’t
we just get money?’
The station personnel
opened the doors. There was a moment of tension as Suarez was
revealed to the world outside, standing in plain view of any
potential assassin, but it passed. People began to cheer. Suarez
waved his hands for silence as he stepped into the open. The
cameraman bustled after him to record the scene.
The soldiers brought
the struggling Callas to a stop in front of the President. Nina and
Eddie watched as the two men faced each other. Suarez spoke first.
‘Salbatore. I never thought it would be you who turned against
me.’
‘That’s because
you’re blind, Tito,’ Callas spat. ‘You’re living in a fantasy
world.’ Sarcasm twisted his lips. ‘All your glorious revolution
will do is make everyone poor. Our
country needs strength, not dreams!’
‘The strength of the
dictator?’
‘Isn’t that what we
have now?’ the general countered.
Suarez drew in a long
breath, his expression cold. ‘Salbatore Delgado Callas,’ he said.
‘You are under arrest. Your crime is treason.’ He nodded to the
soldiers. ‘Take him away.’
They turned, pulling
Callas with them. He resisted – causing one of the soldiers to
stumble.
It was enough for
Callas to break one arm free.
He snatched the
pistol from the captain’s holster and whipped it round at
Suarez—
A single gunshot
cracked across the plaza. In Suarez’s hand was the pistol he had
taken from Rojas. The soldiers holding the general jumped back in
shock. Callas stared at the bullet wound in his chest, mouth wide
in silent pain.
He looked back at
Suarez, trying with his last breath to bring up his own gun and
pull the trigger . . .
Then he collapsed at
his enemy’s feet, blood pooling around him.
The coup was
over.